NOW AVAILABLE--BLOOD TRAIL OF THE HORSETOOTH WIDOW featuring YAKIMA HENRY!

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YAKIMA HENRY RIDES AGAIN!

The drifting half-breed, Yakima Henry, is fleeing a warrant on his head in Colorado and longing for a stake and some long-sought peace and quiet in Old Mexico.

But when he stops in the little town of Horsetooth for a drink to cut the trail dust, he ends up having to kill a saloon owner and falling for the dead man’s beautiful wife.

A man just can’t help himself when assaulted by the wiles of the beautiful Mexican seductress, Paloma Collado . . . the former Mrs. Clancy Brewer.

But Yakima’s new round of trouble is just beginning . . .

It turns out that the lovely Paloma already had a lover—one who’d just robbed an Army payroll and after being scalped and blinded in one eye by Apaches, hid the loot somewhere in the Chiricahua Mountains. And she wants Yakima to help her find it.

Only, a whole lot of other people are also after that loot, including an albino cavalry lieutenant, a man who may or may not be a deputy United States marshal, a slough of banditos, and several swarms of blood-thirsty Apaches...

THE WILDEST, SEXIEST, BLOODIEST FRANK LESLIE NOVEL YET!

From inside BLOOD TRAIL OF THE HORSETOOTH WIDOW:

“Yakima.” Paloma pulled the buckskin up to within ten feet of the half-breed. Her eyes were round and soft. She hadn’t called him anything but a pig since he’d rescued her from the rustlers’ ranch, so this was a change. “You know there is almost a hundred thousand dollars in gold, silver, and paper money in that box.”

         “That’s what I hear.”

         “If you shoot this man, this so-called lawman, it can all be ours.”

         “Hey, now,” MacElvy objected.

         “He is not even a lawman,” Paloma said, wrinkling her nose at him. “He calls himself one, but everyone knows he is an outlaw. He stole that badge from the deputy United States marshal he killed. Everyone knows that, too, but no one says anything because they are afraid of him. He runs with no gang, but he is a killer. A shootist. A regulator. If someone wants somebody dead, and they have enough money to hire it done, they hire him to do it.”

         “Well, now, listen to this,” MacElvy said, laughing. “That’s pretty damn good. You must’ve been concocting that story for a time now. That’s why you been so damn quiet. Been runnin’ your brain instead of your mouth for a change. That lie ran pure as rain water off your devilish little tongue, senorita.”

         MacElvy caught Yakima studying him, and he opened and closed his gloved hand around the breech of his carbine.

         “Don’t make the mistake of falling for that, now, breed . . . uh, I mean Yakima. She’s pretty, and I’m sure you had a good time in the sack with the lyin’ little trollop, but lyin’ little trollop is just exactly what she is.”

         Paloma stared at Yakima, her wide, dark-brown eyes deep with desperation. “Once he gets his hands on that money, he’s going to kill you. And then he’ll kill me”—she turned to stare in repugnance at the beefy lawman—“after he’s done what he’s been imagining doing to me, that is.” She shuddered. “The thought sickens me. I’d rather lie with javelinas.”