THE SEQUEL TO THE DEVIL’S BRIDE IS HERE...
“Lou Prophet and Mathilda Anderson, I now pronounce you man and wife!”
Getting hitched in Colorado is one of the last things Lou Prophet remembers before he finds himself stumbling around the Mexican desert with a bloody gash in his head and a small army of Mexican cutthroats hot on his trail. The mercenaries are being led by a stubborn Pinkerton detective named Wolcott.
Wolcott is looking for the stolen train loot that Prophet had been supposed to return to the U.S. Marshal in Denver.
But that was before the bounty hunter got married. Before he was supposed to live happily ever after with the charming, beautiful mail-order bride, Mattie Anderson, whom he’d met in the Colorado Rockies while retrieving the loot in question from the outlaw Frank Beauregard.
Now Prophet is stumbling around Mexico, dodging bullets and bad men and trying to find out just how deep a hole he dug for himself when he said “I do.”
Maybe Louisa Bonaventure, the Vengeance Queen herself, can help the confused and badly battered bounty hunter make some sense out of the mess his marriage and his life have become...and find the woman and the loot before the diabolical rurale, Colonel Rafael Teviño Quintero, can turn them all toe-down in a Gatling gun hail of deadly Mexican lead!
From the book:
“Cuttin’ it a little close, maybe,” Prophet muttered, leaning his rifle against the rail to his right.
A dove-colored cloud of jostling shadows ran outward from the post house, flames lapping from pistols and rifles. A couple bullets chewed into the rail around Prophet’s tower. A couple more plunked into the underside of the brush roof above the bounty hunter’s head. One spanged off the housing of the Gatling gun just as Prophet reached for the handle.
He jerked his hand back as though from a hot stove, then grabbed the gun, raised its brass snout, slanted it down toward the oncoming crowd of yelling rurales, and turned the crank.
As the machine gun commenced roaring and lighting up the area around the tower, spitting red flames, a similar roaring kicked up from the tower to Prophet’s left. The bounty hunter turned the crank and swiveled the canister from left to right and back again, grinning in satisfaction as the rurales were blown off their feet and sent rolling in the dark dust, bellowing and cursing.
Prophet glanced toward the Kid’s tower, grinning again as he saw jets of fire licking out into the night from beneath that tower’s thatched roof, pale smoke wafting thickly. Prophet hadn’t fired a Gatling gun in years, and the thrill of it caused him to cut loose with ripping Rebel yells as he gritted his teeth and turned the crank over and over again...until the gun clicked and fell silent.
The clip poking up from the canister was empty.
A few seconds later, the Kid’s gun stopped hiccupping, as well.
Prophet’s blood was up. “Take that, you demon-worshippin’ dogs!” he shouted, reaching for his rifle.