A Fistful of Fate
A Fistful of Fate
$5.50
William Montgomery stood in the shadowed doorway and watched the woman he’d waited two hundred years for kiss another man. But Reginald Merriweather wasn’t just any man. He was the man William blamed for Rebecca Beauregard’s death all those years ago, a crime Will had been accused of and paid for. With his own life.
It didn’t matter that Will had been executed. He couldn’t have lived another minute without Rebecca by his side. In truth, his heart had stopped beating the second the bullets had pierced her body. Had he known she would jump between their dueling pistols, he never would have fired.
Now Will’s heart pumped a frantic rhythm he barely remembered in his chest. Two centuries spent in his ghostly form had dulled that particular memory. His blood began to tingle in his veins. Looking down, he saw his legs, his boots, and then his limbs had vanished once again. The change so abrupt he wondered if he’d imagined it.
Rebecca was alive, not a figment of his imagination. She stood on the street between his home and his blacksmith shop, dressed in twenty-first century clothing that showed so much more of her skin than he ever remembered seeing. Her dark hair bounced off her bared shoulders beneath a wide-brimmed hat. So full of life, her smile intoxicated him even from this distance. He wondered if her eyes were the same shade of hazel with green specks and full of mischief, if her skin would still smell like freshly picked lavender.
