A Wild Chase in Arizona (Preview)

Chapter One

Arizona, 1876

“Keep it level, level,” John Sullivan muttered to himself, pressing his salt-and-pepper shaded stubble. As he mumbled, the full mustache on his top lip quivered in the faint breeze.

It was another hot day. The blazing sun overhead bore down, turning the sandy ground beneath him practically blood red. 

When his target moved out of sight, John lowered the gun and reached for the fence that marked the boundary of his ranch land. The bear had broken one of the fences to get on the property, and John now clambered on what remained, standing tall so he had a better shot. Raising the long-barreled rifle, he tucked the butt of the gun against his chin and pulled down his heavy black Stetson to shield the glare of sun from his denim-blue eyes.

The bear loped into view. 

It had already attacked a calf that morning, leaving it lame and so injured that John would likely have to shoot it to put it out of its misery. The bear had blood on his paws as he trudged across the sandy ground. Lifting his muzzle, he roared, the snorting sound surprisingly feeble compared to its heavy black mass and hulking head.

“Sullivan. Sullivan!” a whispered voice sounded behind him.

“Be quiet, Mayhew. This isn’t the time to talk about your wages. We have a rattlesnake in our midst.”

“I thought it was a bear.”

The idiocy ordinarily would have made John laugh. He heard two other ranch hands behind him chuckling, but he didn’t look away from his target. He looked down the gun at the bear that was a great distance away—so far that a perfect shot would be hard to get, especially when John had never prided himself on being the finest shot in the first place.  

“Some wages,” Mayhew muttered darkly. “Ain’t enough to feed me.”

“Then eat what’s left of this bear by the time we’re done with it,” John said, keeping his tone level. 

He knew what Mayhew wanted. The man was young, impetuous, and John could hardly blame him for complaining his wages weren’t high enough, but it wasn’t so simple. John couldn’t afford to keep three ranch hands and pay them more, along with his brother-in-law who worked on the ranch too. If he chose to raise their wages, it would mean losing one man. That felt like the worse crime—each of his ranch hands were either family men or gave money to their ailing parents. They all needed the work.

“Too chewy,” Mayhew said under his breath.

“Then you can’t be that hungry. No starving man complains when given food,” John said, his words drawing a laugh from the other two ranch hands once again. Mayhew huffed but said no more. “He’s on the move.” John nodded at the bear, twitching the end of his rifle. “He’ll be going for another calf soon enough.”

“Damned beast,” another of his ranch hands said quietly. Yates was an older man, not much younger than John. He was set in his ways and always carried a colt revolver at his hip, though he was known to be useless with it. But, being strong and burly, he could even give some cows a run for their money when they charged at him, his dark auburn hair ruffling in the breeze as he did so. “I’ll eat it if you won’t.”

“There’s the mark of a hungry man,” John said quickly.

“Then pay us more.” 

Mayhew’s sharp tone and a heavy thud on the fence drew John’s attention. He abruptly released the trigger of the rifle and looked down at the ranch hand standing behind the fence line.

“What’re you trying to do? I could have fired then.” John gestured to the gun. “Who knows where the shot would have landed.”

Mayhew’s young face wrinkled, abruptly looking older, though, regrettably, not wiser. His green eyes hardened. “We need the money, Sullivan. We’ve been over this. No money, we don’t work.”

“There won’t be any work if you don’t let me shoot this bear.” John raised the rifle, his arms straining against his denim jacket.

It had been a long day already. With Mayhew threatening to make all the ranch hands walk out, John had taken on even more work than he normally would, not that he was ever one to give orders and not do the jobs himself. That morning, he’d woken with the hot Arizona sun. He’d fixed a broken water pump, seen to a snapped cart wheel, and tried to calm some unruly cattle. The threatened strike was just another thing to add to the long, hot day.

Where is she?

John looked around. He needed help, but his daughter had been strangely absent ever since she wandered off that morning with a wave and a smile on her face, peering out from beneath the white Stetson she always wore. Her chestnut brown hair was tied into a braid, her skirt hitched up with her riding boots plainly visible, so she could ride her horse easily. Tall and formidable in figure, she bore a strong resemblance to him, though she had her mother’s spirit.

God rest my Mary’s soul.

He looked around, hoping Emily wouldn’t ride back at the wrong moment and come face to face with the bear. That would be the worst thing to happen today. A young woman of twenty-five, she was strong, but few would be able to survive a bear attack.

“Be quiet, Mayhew,” Yates said from behind John.

“Yeah, let the man concentrate,” Lenny piped up. The youngest of the lot, John had seen how Lenny was just glad to be here to learn the ropes. He’d stared at Emily a few times, with a little too much longing in his eyes for John’s comfort. Fortunately, Lenny was so young that Emily never would have looked at the kid in that way. She put his stares down to a childish infatuation, and that was it. Yet it didn’t stop John from looking at Lenny with wariness every now and then, fearing what thought lurked in that heavy brow and beneath that dark hair.

“It’s coming closer.” John concentrated on the bear, watching as it approached the last group of cattle in the arid field.

Too close…

The bear roared. Some of the cattle were spooked and fled, loping away in that ungainly way cows ran.

“Snakes,” John muttered as the bear ran in the opposite direction, scattering the herd. “It’s too far, I can’t get a good shot from here.”

“Your cattle are done for, Sullivan.” Mayhew laughed.

John shot the ranch hand a dark glare as he leaped down off the fence. “Maybe if you worked a bit harder, I could find something to give you as well as your wages, even if it was a clap on the back as a well done. At least you’d be earning it. Don’t see you riding off to kill this bear.”

Mayhew shifted uncomfortably between his feet, his fingers playing along the rope at his belt. “I could kill it.”

“Alright, shoot it then!” John thrust his rifle toward Mayhew, but the young man didn’t take it. His long narrow face, more akin to the face of a horse, narrowed further. “Nah, thought not. Just a jumped-up kid some days, aren’t you, Mayhew?”

Yates and Lenny laughed again, raucously this time.

“Rebuild the fence.” John issued quick orders, silencing their laughter. “I’ll get this beast.” 

He reached for his nearest horse. The black steed snorted, startled at the sudden grabbing of his reins, then he fell still, allowing John to mount the saddle. With a whistle, John gave the instruction to ride off toward the cattle and the hunting bear. The horse galloped at once, never hesitating in its pace.

Bending down over the head of the animal, John rode hard with the rifle tucked up under his arm. It wouldn’t be easy to use it when the time came, but he had no choice.

The bear grew increasingly wild. It lashed out with its massive claws at the cattle around it, swiping two of the mothers that were trying to shield their young. A bull made a charge for the bear, its great bellow echoing in the air. The heavy thud that followed showed the bear had hit its target. He stood back on his hind legs, towering over the other animals around him. When he roared again, the cattle scarpered, with some of the mothers even leaving their calves behind to follow at a slower pace.

It was rare to get bear attacks on the cattle, especially on anything larger than a calf. It showed the bear was desperate, starving, but John couldn’t lose any more cattle. His business didn’t earn enough money as it was. 

“Hey. Hey!” John called at the animal, waving madly in the air. At first, he didn’t get the bear’s attention. The bear dropped to all four paws and attacked the fallen bull.

Pulling sharply on the reins, John came to a stop, an idea occurring to him.

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” he muttered and checked the barrel of the rifle. He had two shots. 

Emily would say the same thing.

She was no wilting flower. More than once he had seen her stand her own when they were faced with animal attacks, but she was also wise and chose not to ride directly into the fray.

She doesn’t need to know about this.

John pointed the gun down at the ground. The shot went off, echoing around them. The horse he was on whinnied loudly, its nose turning to the sky. He was used to shots, but not ones that came so close to his own hooves. 

“Be quiet, Thunder, please.” 

The horse had been named by Emily long ago, for she said when he galloped, his hooves sounded like a storm on the horizon. The horse calmed but struggled to stand still until John tugged on the reins, sharpening his hold.

The shot had done its task and caught the bear’s attention. Rather than being frightened off by the sound, the bear looked up with blood on its jaws, dripping.

“That’s it, come this way, you beast,” John muttered, as if the bear would somehow hear him across the distance. He raised the rifle and pointed it straight at the animal. With his aim, he would have to wait for the right shot, until the bear was very close.

The bear loped away from the bull. It roared, its dark black eyes set on John, then it ran, charging toward him.

Thunder snorted, his hooves moving restlessly beneath him.

“Easy. Easy, boy,” John whispered to the animal.

The bear got closer, its paws thudding into the ground in a way that would even rival Thunder at his finest hour. The bear roared, mere seconds away from being upon John. He heard cries from the ranch hands, all of them now panicking.

“You trying to get yourself killed!?” That was Yates.

“Run. Run!”

John had no intention of going anywhere.

So near…

When the bear was a few strides away, so close that John could be certain he would not miss, the bear’s paw reaching out toward him, a claw outstretched. John squeezed the trigger. The second shot went off. 

Rather than leaving the barrel, though, it jammed in the gun.

Great cries erupted behind him, but John didn’t listen. Dropping the rifle, he pulled on the reins of the horse with his left hand and sat forward, reaching around his back for the small Colt pistol he kept hidden in his belt. Pulling it out from under the denim jacket, he fired again. 

The shot echoed as the bullet landed in the bear’s head. An awful cry escaped the beast, eerie, as if it was a cry from the flames of hell itself. Startled, the horse bolted forward, taking John out of harm’s way, and the bear dropped to the ground, laid out flat. He breathed heavily, his breaths shaking the fur and making it tremble. Then, at once, everything was still.

Only the breeze ruffled the strands of the bear’s fur, and the dust that was picked up from the ground scattered across his paws and his immovable face.

Cursing, John turned around, looking at the discarded rifle where he had dropped it when the shot had jammed in the barrel.

“That was close, eh, Thunder? No need to tell Emily about this.”

The horse snorted as if in agreement.

“Ha! What a shot that was,” Yates said, appearing on the other side of the bear atop his own horse. “Nicely done, Sullivan.”

“Thanks.” John smiled at Yates and looked away, seeing that Mayhew and Lenny hadn’t even made it over the fence but stayed firmly on the other side, where they thought they were safe. “Check it’s dead, would you?”

“Aye.” Yates pulled out the Colt from his hip and shot a second time, just to make sure the bear wasn’t going to get up again. “What’s that? Not another…” He used the gun to point into the distance across the ranch.

John pushed his hat higher on his head and peered out, seeing something moving toward them. It shook in the heat of the day and grew into focus the closer it got. 

“That’s no bear. You’re losing your sight, Yates.”

“I know it.” Yates huffed as he dropped down off the saddle and poked the bear with his long-toed boot, evidently reluctant to get too close.

“It’s Atticus.” John recognized his brother-in-law at once. He’d moved into the ranch years ago, more John’s partner than a ranch hand at all. John had married Atticus’ sister, Mary, years ago, and even after Mary had passed, Atticus had stayed at the ranch, part of the family and uncle to Emily.  

“John! John?” He bellowed the words. As he rode closer, he revealed the blond hair on his head was slicked back with sweat. The heavy lines of his face seemed heavier now. When he reached John’s side, he stumbled off the saddle, practically falling.

“Careful, Atticus. You alright?”

“Do I look it?” Atticus asked wildly. As he fell, Yates caught him under the arms and pushed him back to his feet. “Look. Look what I found.” He pulled out a scrap of paper from the loose leather waistcoat he always wore, unbuttoned across his shirt. Reaching toward John, he thrust the paper up. “Pinned to a fence at the edge of the ranch, with…”

“With what?”

“A nail. Blood dripping from it.” Atticus turned as pale as a sheet. 

He laid a hand to his mouth when he saw the bear and toppled on his feet. Once more, Yates reached forward in time to catch him as Atticus fell backward, but this time, they ended up dropping to the ground together. They both landed ungracefully on the ground as John stared at the letter in his grasp.

It had a blood stain on the corner, pale pink as it had dried in the sunlight. He unfurled the folded note, his eyes dancing across the lines that had been scrawled hurriedly, the words slanting and running together.

We want money. Pay us $1,000, or the price will be blood.

 

Chapter Two

John had barely slept. He paced up and down his kitchen repeatedly, wearing only his shirt hung loose over his denim jeans. 

Emily’s still not back.

He reached for his father’s old pocket watch. The glass was scratched, the casing coming apart, but it belonged to his family, so it was cherished. He lifted it off the mantelpiece above the fire and checked the time. It was seven in the morning now.

“She should have been back. Where the hell is she?” he muttered loudly and dropped the pocket watch back to its usual resting place, returning to his pacing.

The note that had been left pinned to his ranch’s fence the day before was beside the watch, leaning against an old ornament that Mary had bought long ago, the figure of a beautiful white horse. Distractedly, John looked more at the ornament than at the note, thinking of how much Emily had loved that horse as a child. She would sit for hours with it in her lap, petting it as if it was alive. 

The ornament had earned the nickname Lady, so when Emily had gotten her own horse, that animal naturally became Lady, too.

“Where is she?” he said harshly, pacing across his kitchen again.

The kitchen door swung open, whining on its hinges. Turning sharply toward it, John was ready to run to his daughter, but it wasn’t Emily standing in the doorway. It was Atticus.

“You’re a mess,” Atticus murmured.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I care?” John threw up his arms. 

Something was wrong, very wrong. He didn’t believe in luck, nor in curses, though this was the closest to believing in such things he’d ever been. The day before, so much had gone wrong, with things breaking, the bear attack, the note, and now Emily not returning.

“We need to search for her,” John said, stopping his pacing and planting his hands on the small kitchen table. In the middle was a vase of flowers that Emily had picked from their tiny yard and placed there a few days ago. His knuckles turned white as he balled his hands on the table and he resisted the urge to smash the vase in anger. What did he care for flowers when Emily wasn’t here? She had to be here!

“Doing it already.”

“What?” John looked up sharply.

Atticus walked in, seeming much calmer than the day before, though as he dropped his old hat to the table, he revealed beading sweat on his forehead despite the early hour and the fact the sun wasn’t yet at its hottest.

“Yates and Lenny are here early. I’ve sent them to search the ranch,” Atticus explained, then nodded at the empty pot over the fire. “Coffee? You drank anything yet today?”

“What? No.” John answered distractedly, careful to kick the scotch bottle he’d been drinking the night before under his rocking chair so it wouldn’t easily be seen. He wasn’t a big drinker, never had been, but he could handle his alcohol as well as any other man, even Yates. He’d drank a lot the night Mary had died, and last night, with no sign of Emily, that bottle had lost at least half of its contents.

“Then coffee it is.” Atticus placed a pot of water on the fire.

“I can’t drink coffee right now. I’ve got to do something. I’m going to search the town.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No. You go to the train station. If she’s not there, I’ll find you, and we’ll go to the sheriff.”

“That waste of space?” Atticus laughed and sat down in the rocking chair. When the heel of his boot touched the bottle John had hidden, he reached down and picked it up, eyeing John with a raised eyebrow. “It didn’t help after you lost my sister. It isn’t going to help now.”

Say that when your daughter goes missing.

John kept the thought to himself. Atticus had never married, had never had a child. They hadn’t spoken about what that meant to Atticus but, fearful of touching a nerve, even now, John chose not to be so cruel. 

Deciding activity was the best thing, he reached for a clean shirt that was hung over a wooden railing, from when Emily had recently done their washing. He changed it with his current shirt and tucked it into his jeans.

“I’m going out there.”

“Drink your coffee first,” Atticus urged, lining up two mugs in front of the fire.

“I don’t need coffee. I need my daughter.”

“And what will you do when you drop off your horse in the heat, eh? Parched? Mouth like sand? Don’t be a fool, John. You know your dung from wild honey.” Atticus pointed to his own temple. “You wanna be useful to your daughter? Then drink something. Eat something, too.”

“You weren’t calm yesterday. Your blood was boiling, I saw it,” John answered sharply, his hands balling into fists at his side.

“I know. I saw the blood. I couldn’t help thinking…” Atticus swallowed uneasily.

John turned away, not wishing to hear the end of the sentence. After that letter had arrived, Yates and Mayhew had first brushed it off as someone just out to cause trouble. It was Lenny who mentioned some hours later as they were tidying up after the bear attack that Emily was still missing. 

John had seen the same look of fear in Atticus’ expression that he had known was in his own. What if whoever left that note has taken Emily? What if the blood on that letter was her blood?

“I will find her,” John seethed and snatched up the coffee cup that Atticus proffered to him. He gulped heavily, downing the bitter drink but regretting it when the hot water burned his mouth. “Argh,” he groaned in pain.

“Eat something, John,” Atticus said, his tone calm. “I promise, we will look for her, but none of us are any good to her dead on our feet.”

“I know, I know.” John opened the pantry cupboard and pulled out some leftovers that Emily had tucked away. He didn’t bother with bowls but offered up some of the old beef to Atticus, who took it with a silent nod. John chewed his own but found it tasteless, as he couldn’t concentrate on anything but Emily. “She left at her usual time. There was nothing strange about it, was there? No one was watching the ranch. No strangers.”

“Nothing,” Atticus agreed, wiping the sweat off his brow and betraying how nervous he was after all, despite his calm manner today. 

“She went to the market to get her supplies. She took the basket.” John looked around in the kitchen, seeing her usual basket was gone. “Did you see it at the edge of the ranch? Where you found that note?”

“No. Nothing there but the note and the bloody nail.” Atticus sipped from his coffee.

“Jesu, there must be something more. Something!” John snapped. He swallowed the last of the beef, debating what to do first. Should he search the town? Or maybe he should search the train station instead and leave Atticus to do the town?

“Hey. Hey!” a voice called from outside.

“What you got there?” 

The ranch hands were shouting at one another.

“What do you think? You got eyes, Yates?”

“Not good ones.”

John turned his back on Atticus with the coffee and ran from the kitchen. He snatched up his black Stetson, pulling it low over his brow as he strode out. In his haste, he stumbled down the steps of the veranda toward where his three ranch hands were gathered. It seemed Mayhew had decided to show up for work after all.

“You need those spectacles, Yates,” Mayhew said, gesturing to the burly man who no longer seemed interested in talking to him. He was staring forward, his expression stern.

“What is it? What—?” John asked then broke off sharply as he pushed between Mayhew and Yates.

In front of them was Emily’s horse, Lady. The same pale gray color as the ornament inside the house, the horse was beautiful, but also weary. Her nose hung low to the ground.

“Lenny! Get some water,” John barked, reaching toward the animal.

Lenny ran off as John’s hand touched the animal’s nose. She was usually an easily spooked soul and never normally let John touch her. Emily was the only person she did trust, but not today. Perhaps the fight had gone out of her, or she didn’t have the energy; either way, she let John pat her nose in comfort.

“Where you been, girl?” John asked the horse as he peered at the saddle. 

It was empty. It bore no trace of Emily, no basket that she had taken with her, nothing. There wasn’t even a shred of cloth from her gown torn on the saddle or stirrups. It was as if his daughter had vanished.

“This can’t be happening,” he murmured, angling his head around. The sharpness of his movements made all his ranch hands flinch. Even Atticus, as he arrived at their side, nearly dropped his coffee. “Where did you find her?”

“South side of the ranch. Near the creek,” Lenny explained in a rush as he offered up a bucket of water. John took it fast and dropped it to the ground, urging Lady to take a drink. She pushed her snout into the bucket thirstily. 

“And Emily? Was there any sign of her?”

Lenny looked at Yates as if waiting for his confirmation.

“Well?” John barked, hardly feeling his most patient self.

“No sign,” Yates answered, shaking his head. “The ground was torn up, though, as if there had been a scuffle of some kind.”

John’s heart thudded in his chest. He couldn’t bear this, couldn’t live with it. He turned away and braced himself against the side of the horse, dreading what was passing.

For so long, he had lived entirely for Emily. She was the point of his being since Mary had died.

“Find her,” John said darkly.

“What?” Mayhew spoke first. “How are we supposed to find someone that has just vanished?”

John looked up sharply, glaring at him. Before he could respond, Yates hit Mayhew around the back of the head.

“By searching, you idiot. Sandwich short of a picnic, this one.” Yates jerked his head at Mayhew, who rubbed the sore spot across the back of his neck.

“Listen up.” John stepped forward and issued quick orders for where everyone was to go and search. Lenny was the only one who would be left behind to look after the cattle and ensure no bears came around again. The rest of them split up to search.

As Yates and Mayhew hurried off with their horses, John moved to his brother-in-law’s side. 

“We’ll search the town and the station. First, come with me to the creek.”

“Alright.” Atticus nodded. They set up their horses in the stable, though John moved much faster than Atticus. He soon saw why when he caught Atticus staring at him.

“I’m fine,” John lied.

“Just watching you.”

“I said I’m fine. Let’s just find my daughter.”

“She could have fallen off,” Atticus said in a soft tone as he climbed into the saddle.

“What?” John pulled himself into his own saddle and urged Thunder out of the stable, flicking the reins.

“I’m saying she could have fallen off. The creek, it’s scrubland around there. She wouldn’t be easy to find if she fell.”

“You ever seen a rider like my Emily?” John scoffed at the idea. “No rider better. No, she’s as unlikely to fall off her horse as the sun is to fall from that sky.” 

He whistled and the horse jerked forward, taking him to the creek.

***

John marched back toward the house. He kicked a water can over, sending the water everywhere, though he didn’t care to stop and mop it back up again.

On the veranda, Lenny and Mayhew veered forward, staring open-jawed.

“Well?” Mayhew asked.

“Yes, I’ve found her. That’s why I’m like this. Celebrating!” John declared with sarcasm, looking at his ranch hands as if they were as thick as two short planks. 

“Sullivan, I—”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about wages, Mayhew.” John marched toward him across the veranda, aware he had an audience.

The sun had dipped in the sky now that night was approaching, and they had searched long and hard all day. Atticus and Yates were both climbing down from their saddles and froze to watch John with Mayhew.

“You speak to me about money right now, and you’ll find yourself off my ranch. My daughter is missing.”

“I wasn’t going to. I’m sorry, Sullivan.” Mayhew looked guilty, the expression so obvious that John backed up from him, realizing what he had done.

He’d towered over the young man, threateningly, his hand outstretched toward him as if he… as if he what? Would he actually have struck the young ranch hand?

That’s not who I am.

“No. No. I’m sorry. You’ve looked all day, and I’m thankful for that.” John moved his hands to his hips, breathing heavily as he tried to find some semblance of his old self but couldn’t. “You two, go home.” He waved a hand at Mayhew and Lenny. “Go, get your sleep.”

They moved to their feet and walked away, with Mayhew practically running. Lenny hung back a little more, his expression a pained one, before he walked off the veranda and hurried after his friend.

“Ain’t their fault, John,” Atticus said after they’d gone.

“I know. Doesn’t make it any easier.” John strode into the house with Atticus and Yates following behind him.

They’d searched all day, every hour that the sun was up. They’d started with the creek, but there was nothing there but the turned-up land. They’d searched the town and the station too, but still nothing. John had even gone to the sheriff and asked for his help, and he’d put the word around the saloons. By the end of the day, everyone in the nearby town seemed to have Emily’s name on their lips, but no one had seen anything.

“This can’t be happening,” John muttered as he reached for the mantelpiece over the fire. It was dark inside, the last light of the day barely making it through the windows.

Yates lit a candle and dropped it heavily in its brass holder on the kitchen table.

“We’ll search again tomorrow, Sullivan. We’ll find her. We won’t give up easily.”

John appreciated the sentiment but knew in his heart that it meant nothing. With a shaking hand, he reached for the note on the mantelpiece and read what had been written there in a new light.

“What if this is a ransom demand?” he asked, waving the scrap of paper for Atticus and Yates to see. “What if they took her first, then left this?”

“Then I hope you’ve got that much money somewhere, John,” Atticus said with a heavy sigh.

I don’t. And I wouldn’t even know where to leave the money or how to pay these men even if I did. 

---

“A Wild Chase in Arizona” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

The aging rancher John Sullivan is thrown into turmoil when his daughter, Emily, is abducted, and a chilling ransom note appears on his ranch. Determined to save her, he embarks on a desperate quest while everything is against him. With each passing day and cryptic message, John will face his family’s doubts and his own ghosts. As time is running out, John must take the reins and confront the truth that the town’s lawmen are useless…

Will he be able to fight this ordeal alone?

Meanwhile, Sam Chambers, a renowned gunslinger, hears of John’s plight and offers his expertise. Suspecting the involvement of a dangerous local gang, Sam knows the stakes are higher than John realizes. As their journey through the treacherous Arizona terrain tests their mettle, pitting them against the gang’s henchmen, scorching heat, and unforeseen dangers, a strong friendship grows between them. Yet, their alliance may prove futile when the true face of betrayal emerges among their companions…

In the deadly land of Arizona, where danger lurks at every turn, will even the bravest of men falter?

In a heart-pounding adventure, John and Sam’s determination to bring Emily home propels them to the brink of life and death. With relentless outlaws, the unforgiving Arizona sun, and gunfights, their journey throws them into a bloody tale of survival and deceit. Can John fight against the true face of the wilderness? Will John and Sam rescue Emily, or will they be forced to make unimaginable sacrifices?

“A Wild Chase in Arizona” is a historical adventure novel of approximately 60,000 words. No cliffhangers, only pure unadulterated action.

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