Especially Donovan's crazy girlfriend—she was a riot!”

 

“Another great read from John Locke. This novel delivers both thriller and comic which is pretty rare in an action novel. If you are a Donovan Creed fan, you will definitely like this book. It provides more insight into the mysterious man we have all come to love.”

 

“Here is another book in which John Locke shows off his talent for humor and plot twists.”

 

“This book will hook you right from the beginning. It is a great mix of action and fantasy.”

 

“Mystery and Mysticism usually don't go together, but in 'Now and Then' by John Locke, it does, and with elan.”

 

“Most fans of good mystery know that John Locke and Donovan Creed stand for nonstop action, exciting plots full of twists and turns, and an ending that no one expects, ever.”

 


BOOKS BY JOHN LOCKE

Donovan Creed Series:

 

Saving Rachel

Lethal People

Lethal Experiment

Now & Then

Wish List

A Girl Like You

Vegas Moon (Coming May 2011)

 

Every novel John Locke has written has made the Amazon/Kindle Best Seller’s List. His Donovan Creed series is so popular that every 21 seconds, 24 hours a day, a Donovan Creed novel is purchased and downloaded somewhere in the world.

 

For previews of upcoming books by John Locke and more information about the author, visit http://www.SavingRachel.com


 

 

 

“When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”

 

—The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance

 


 

 

 

Acknowledgment

 

Special thanks to author Claude Bouchard, for providing French translations for this project, and Winslow Eliot and Ricky Locke, who provided guidance, support, suggestions, and critical reading skills. Thanks also to my publisher, Claudia Jackson at Telemachus Press.

 


 

 

 

1.

 

I held the reins low while we walked, so Major could stretch his neck and toss his head if it pleased him. We’d done thirty miles over steep Ozark trails, and he was gettin’ pissed. He’d earned his sorghum hours ago and knew it. But I was determined to camp on the banks of the Gasconade, and we were eight miles shy.

I rubbed Major’s neck. “Soon,” I said.

He blew a loud snort, which I won’t bother translatin’.

It was late September, 1860, and we were north of Devils Rock, Missouri, where the air’s cool to the nostril this time of year, and scented with honeysuckle. A stand of short leaf pine lined the right side of the trail and ran deep as the eye could see. Limestone cliffs and mud bluffs dotted with pink dogwood towered above us on the left. A soft breeze pushed us eastward, mile after weary mile.

It was nearin’ dusk when I saw the five small stones on the path.

I pulled back on the reins and slid off Major’s back and tied him to a pine bough. He took the opportunity to chew what grass he could pull from the pine needles.

Shrug had arranged the stones as he always did, North, South, East and West, with the fifth stone pointin’ in the direction he was headin’. I was annoyed to see the fifth stone at the north-west point. Shrug knew I loved fishin’ the Gasconade, and since he, too, had a passion for Nade perch, I was perplexed he would knowin’ly head the wrong way. But Shrug was the best scout in the territory, always had a reason for his actions, so I quietly cursed and climbed back on my horse and followed the stone.

Ten minutes into the ride we hit a clearin’, where I found a circle of stones that ringed a single footprint, the cause of our detour.

It was a woman’s shoe print.

I was so stunned I nearly fell off my horse.

I looked around. It was so crazy uncommon to find a woman’s shoe print in this part of the wilderness, I wondered if perhaps Shrug had played a trick on me. I climbed off Major’s back and knelt down beside the shoe print and studied it carefully while thinkin’ a talkin’ horse, a tree that lays eggs, a flyin’ pig—would make more sense. And yet…

It was real.

I looked around again, this time for a stone that’d show me where he went. There was none. I’m no skilled tracker, but I managed to follow the lady’s shoe prints to the edge of the forest. I had no idea how old the prints were, but I figured ’em fresh, or Shrug wouldn’t a’ changed course. Maybe he’d find her and bring her back alive. More likely, he’d find evidence she’d been carried off by a pack of wolves or a bear.

But Shrug didn’t intend us to follow him into the forest, or he’d a’ left a fifth stone.

Which he didn’t.

“No fish for dinner,” I hollered to Major. “Let’s make camp.”

I ain’t ashamed to admit I talk to my horse more than I should.