Tabor Chandler rescues a young boy from drowning one cold Texas night in 1865, but the act won’t pardon him of the crime that keeps him on the move. So many men are dead—his best friend among them—and he can never forgive himself for his part.
Not even Tabor’s heroic rescue can overcome Elena Lamb’s angry grief over his part in the death of her brother. Her evidence: the battle of Shiloh, where Tabor ordered his men into deadly Union fire. Her prosecution of the Confederate lieutenant rests even when her heart cannot, and she wants him gone.
But mysterious events conspire to keep them together. Attempted robbery and murder, sabotage and the presence of a stalking devil convince Elena that she needs this man she hates…if only for the sake of her family.
Tabor’s presence is a constant reminder of her brother’s death. Can getting to know him change Elena’s verdict and allow her to forgive him? Can he forgive himself and take hold of the love he so desperately wants?
Here’s an excerpt from The Prosecution of Lt. Tabor Chandler:
Tabor studied Elena's profile, taking in the sheen of tears in her dark eyes, the grief that tightened her full lips. Even her throat looked longer and constricted. Her sadness must outweigh his guilt, but witnessing her distress made him feel so much worse.
He wished he could take her hand, kneel right there in the coach and beg her forgiveness. But he knew it would do no good. She would never forgive him, nor could he blame her. It would be better for both of them if he just returned to the top of the coach and left her alone with her grief.
Grief of which my very presence reminds her.
She blinked rapidly and her back stiffened even more. Her lips parted and, gasping, she pressed both hands against the sill of the window.
An instant later, Billy shouted down from his perch, “Riders coming fast!”
Tabor drew his revolver, wishing he hadn’t left the rifle up top. Through the window, he saw three riders racing down a gentle slope to the northwest. All three wore bandanas over the lower parts of their faces, and hats shadowed their eyes. Each man carried a rifle. That and their speed meant they weren’t just casual fellow travelers.
“Get down,” Tabor said. When she didn't immediately respond, he grabbed her arm, dragged her off the seat and pushed her down onto the floor. Ignoring her surprised gasp, he positioned himself so that his body held hers down. He continued to ignore her muffled protests as he awkwardly aimed out the window toward the advancing riders. One of the men raised his rifle, sighting on the coach—no doubt, on Billy.
Tabor didn't hesitate or take time to steady his aim. He needed to let the riders know that the stagecoach was not undefended. He fired.
As he'd expected, the shot went wide, but the report spooked one of the bandits’ horses. That made all three of the riders jerk apart.
But they kept coming.
Billy whistled and shouted to the stagecoach team. The coach lurched into a faster pace. Holding his breath, steadying his aim for a truer shot, Tabor fired again at the nearest bandit. His target jerked, struck in the arm, and veered away. Before the other riders could react, Tabor loosed two more shots. All three riders whipped around and raced back in the direction from which they'd come.
Tabor dropped his head against the rim of the window and let his gun hand slide down onto the seat to his right. “They’re going,” he said.
A muffled protest from below accompanied a sharp jab against his left hip.
“Sorry.” Awkwardly, Tabor pushed himself off Elena and back into his seat. He caught her arm and helped her rise from the floor. The bouncing of the still racing coach made it difficult.
Finally, as she fell into her seat, she jerked free of him. Her dark eyes blazed and her jaw was tight as she spouted, “What do you think you're doing?”
“I didn't want you to get hit by—”
“I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself!” She tugged at her clothing, putting her disheveled cloak and shirt back into some semblance of order even as she bounced in the swaying, jouncing coach. Gradually, the conveyance slowed to a more moderate pace.
With his free hand, Tabor gripped the leather hand strap to his left. “I'm sure you can in most situations but—”
“Really, Lt. Chandler, will you just leave me alone?”
As if her request wasn't worded strongly enough, the glare in her eyes told him it was time to retreat to the top of the coach.
Setting his jaw, he holstered his gun and opened the door. The ground raced past as the coach flew along the damp road. He was tempted to sit back down but decided that she needed a break from him.
He stepped into the opening, half-turned and, reaching up with one hand, grabbed the nearest support for the driver’s box. His heart skipped for a moment as he pulled himself up on top of the coach. As he climbed over to the driver's box, he heard the door shut behind him. He looked at Billy. The younger man lifted one eyebrow.
“That was good shooting,” he said as Tabor sat beside him
“It wasn't easy with a revolver from this bouncing coach.”
“Next time you go down there, take the rifle with you.”
Tabor grimly faced forward. “There won't be a next time.”
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Teri Thackston is an award-winning, multi-published author in several genres, including western romance. At least a fourth-generation Texas (she’s still researching her ancestry), she’s also descended from at least two patriot soldiers of the Revolutionary War, so history is a big interest for her. Her stories are known for exciting action as well as captivating romance. While storytelling is her first love, she also delves into non-fiction writing, writing articles on topics ranging from how to choose a mother-of-the-bride dress to how to process credit cards for your small business. But she can most often be found creating unique worlds for the characters that whisper in her ear, begging to be brought to life.
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