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The Railwalkers

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Blurb

America, 1887. In a country healing from the horrors of the Civil War, the American West has never been more treacherous. Evil men do as they please, and the often faulty and corrupt justice system does little to nothing to help their victims.

Enter the Railwalkers. Bandits whose only goal is to punish those whom the law has allowed to walk free. Some think they're an urban legend, meant to scare would-be criminals into submission. Some see them as no different than the murderers they kill, while to others, they are angels of mercy. To Violet Donovan, they are family.

Growing up as the sole heiress to the sizable Donovan estate, Violet's place of privilege allowed her wild spirit to flourish. Despite the pressures of her s*x -- find a husband, stay pretty, have children, be subservient, don't speak out of line -- Violet is passionate, loud, stubborn, and untamed. However, at the ripe, marriageable age of twenty, Violet faces the fact that she may have to give in to her mother's wishes and marry mean, ugly Eustace Carpenter, the only other family name in their little town with comparable worth.

But Violet's life changes forever when she is saved from an attacker by a strange woman. A woman who, like Violet, doesn't exactly fit the mold. Unfortunately Violet gets mixed up in a murder charge and has to leave everything she knows for a life on the run from the law. Through divine intervention, she and the woman cross paths again, and Violet comes to know her and her comrades.

They are Mei Wong, Linus Cooper, Sitting Bear, and Rory McNab. The infamous Railwalker gang.

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Chapter 3

To my dear Readers, I want to thank you for supporting my work. This novel has been a labor of love for the better part of five years now, so to see it finally out in the world is a joy and a privilege. And while you likely don’t know me, and I likely don’t know you, you have my gratitude for giving me your time and your attention. When I started this book, it began with an idea at three in the morning. Half asleep, I bolted up, and haphazardly wrote down the opening scene of what you’re about to read. I can only describe the writing process from there out as an act of instinct. I would sit, for hours on end, with a mug of tea and a single light at my desk, and write furiously. It was as if this story needed to exist of its own volition. Truth be told, it did. There’s nothing more Ameri

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