Jim
Hanley is a Human Resources professional, adjunct professor and short
story writer, Jim has had over 70 stories appear in print and online
publications.Social Media Links:
http://jaahanley.blog.com/
https://www.facebook.com/people/James-Hanley/100005717106376
https://twitter.com/Atwellnovel14
In this sequel to The Calling, Sheriff
Luke Atwell and his deputies face individual and collective challenges
from outlaws, gunfighters, renegade Indians, card sharps, and a thieving
medicine show in a Kansas town in the 1870’s. The personal lives of the
lawmen also change and nature takes its destructive toll on the town
and its residents. When a black neighbor’s family is attacked and the
oldest son killed, the sheriff gets the help of federal law enforcement
and they chase a band of marauding ex-Confederates out to undo the
changes resulting from the Civil War.Grab your copy of the book today!
www.amazon.com/Ill-Wind-James-P-Hanley-ebook/dp/B015YCXIXO/
Ready for a Snippet!?!
The next day, the wind had been cleansed of the dust but was
still strong. The cowardly sun hid behind the whiter clouds while dark
thunderstorms moved in. The black cumulus stretched high in the air. Atwell had
just left Peggy and the boy, and he looked upward. The top of the cloud spread
into the shape of a blacksmith’s anvil and the rain began, pinging off the
rooftops like low-caliber bullets. The sheriff went back inside and told Peggy
about the coming storm and advised her to put the child in the back room, which
had been added with stronger walls to hold the rows of shelving. Most of the
customers had left, fearing being caught in a downpour. The sheriff sought out
Jesse and Peter. He found the deputies having lunch in the hotel. “Bad storm,”
the sheriff said in his usual style of few words. “Be best if we’re all out there
in case it gets real bad.”
The deputies looked out the large window at the back of the
hotel and saw debris begin to fly across the open field. Thunder sounded like cannons fired nearby and
streaks of lighting cut across the sky with a few bolts pointed straight down
like spears. When the three lawmen went outside, they saw town folks rushing
indoors wherever they could. The crack of thunder rattled horses still tied to
a rail. One animal broke free and ran down the street as if kicked. The rain
came down in sheets. A huge cloud in the distance had a greenish-black base and
the wind seemed to be pulled upward into the center of the cumulus. Atwell and his deputies stared at the single
cloud which seemed to take over the sky. Air below was spinning. Soon a funnel
formed, stretching down, but still well above the ground. White droplets fell
out of the cloud; Sheriff Atwell knew it was hail. As the storm approached, the funnel widened
and hovered just a few feet above the soil. The counter-clockwise winds snapped
trees, splintering and launching wood in all directions. Laden with dirt and
debris, the funnel darkened and reached down to touch the earth. A planted
field just at the edge of town was a mass of swirling, newly emerging produce.
By the time the twister was fully shaped and vertical, the width had reached
over fifteen yards.
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