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Two Moons, a Free Online Romance Novel

Set in the Old West

A Love Story Written by Willow Windsong


It was nearing dusk as Colt entered the town of Three Rivers and he had a gut feeling that signaled it had been a bad move. He’d had these premonitions before and things never ended well when he experienced such.

In hindsight, he should have tumbled on over to the trail leading to Featherstone Falls, his original destination rather than opting to make a side-stop.

Three Rivers had been off the beaten path, adding a significant amount of time to his journey but he was in need of a good meal, a stiff drink and a comfortable bed. His horse Sirocco deserved as much too – the stiff drink excluded.

After a month of battling brush, brambles and flying dirt, they resembled two wraiths in great need of a good dusting along with a good watering.

And with autumn deciding to turn into early winter, the last few nights on the trail had been bitter.

He’d surrendered one of his heavy blankets for his horse last night and today he was feeling the ill-effects of a poor night’s rest because of such.

Colt’s dark eyes scanned the buildings as Sirocco’s cloven hooves tapped roughshod against the dirt ridden trail of the main street of Three Rivers.

A barber shop, a café supporting striped balloon-shaped red and white awnings looking more appropriate for New Orleans than the Texas Panhandle, a sizeable mercantile, a doctor’s office situated over a funeral parlor – all those steps leading up to the doctor’s weather-beaten door not  making sense for anyone in need of help.

As he continued his survey of the town he noted a jailhouse with ‘Sheriff West Nolans’ scrawled across the top of the old oak door, a newspaper office, a boot maker and cobbler’s shop, a small schoolhouse in the distance with a village church anchored juxtapose, a respectable looking saloon which was unusually quiet for the evening hour and a blacksmith shop to the right, his decided destination.


All in all, it was what he would call ‘a town with charm’.

The streets were impeccably clean, and the horse troughs sidelining the path were filled with fresh water from what he could decipher amid the ever-dimming light of dusk as some of the last sunrays slid over the area as the red ball of fire continued to sink in the western horizon.

After he got Sirocco settled, he would grab a bite at the local café, enjoy that stiff drink, and then he’d secure lodging for the night.

That hot bath was sure going to feel good. All the grime, dirt and sand that he’d picked up along the journey were starting to eat into his toughened hide.

While a dip in the stream would rid a body of a few layers of such, there was nothing like a hot, extra sudsy bath. And those last few dips in the streams had been quite icy.

As he entered the underpinning of the blacksmith shop - which was more of a large stable than a shop as the front lay open to the natural elements, he studied an enormous dark-skinned man through the dusk who was hammering iron.

There was a hot, belly-high fire blazing before him with ashes sparking with the fire-fog and flying through the dimming light.

There didn’t appear to be an ounce of sweat on the blacksmith as he turned to acknowledge them with a wide smile.


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