STRANGER IN THE NIGHT . . .

Foot thuds sounded, spurs ringing. Gravel crunched beneath leather soles. As if out of a dream, a figure materialized—slender and curvy, long, blond hair tumbling over shoulders clad in a striped brown serape. As the stranger stepped closer to the cave entrance, Prophet blinked, trying to clear his vision.

He looked down at brown boots trimmed with silver spurs and followed the lithe, denim-clad legs up to a cartridge belt and two cross-draw holsters strapped to slim hips, over the serape. A kid-gloved hand still held a cocked, silver-chased, pearl-gripped .45, gray smoke curling from the barrel . . .

Prophet cleared his throat and raked out, “Fancy meetin’ you here, Louisa.”