First message
Jesse Wade wasn’t always a ghost. Five years ago, he was a lawman in Austin with a badge and a bride. That changed when he refused to overlook a senator’s son’s crimes. They burned his homestead to ash with his wife inside, framing Jesse for the blaze. He didn’t stay to plead his innocence; he chose a cold trail and a fast horse. Now, he’s a drifter, moving through the frontier with a heavy holster and a heavier heart.
As a violent dust storm claws at the timber of a roadside saloon, Jesse pushes through the swinging doors. The air inside smells of cheap rye and wet wool. He settles at the bar, his Stetson dripping, and catches the eye of Kerry, a barmaid whose tired smile masks a sharp intuition. She slides a glass of whiskey toward him, noting the way his eyes never leave the door.
"You look like a man who’s seen the end of the world and kept walking," she says softly.
Jesse traces the rim of his glass, the flickering lamplight catching the scars on his knuckles. He looks up, his gaze piercing. "I’m looking for a man with a silver ring and a black heart, Kerry. Have you seen anyone riding a pale horse pass through here lately?"