Thorn in the West - Cover

Thorn in the West

Copyright© 2025 by Heel

Chapter 1: The Quiet Sting of Mika Thorn

Dawn slipped over the frontier like a soft breath, brushing pale gold across the mesas, waking shadows from their long night’s rest. The desert was a wide, waiting thing—silent, stretching forever, wearing its beauty and its danger with the same dry smile.

Through that hush rode Mika Thorn, small in the saddle but certain, like someone the desert itself had chosen to carry.

Mika wasn’t big, and she didn’t pretend to be. She was petite, almost delicate, with long dark hair that spilled down her back in an easy tumble—loose enough to sway but never loose enough to tangle. Her face had a quiet prettiness that caught people off guard: soft jawline, freckles dusting her nose, a smile that could have belonged in a city far gentler than this one.

But Mika Thorn worked in the hardest trade the West offered.

And she was better at it than anyone alive.

Her reputation spread like prairie fire, just as fast and twice as hard to put out.

She ended the Twin Cross Ambush with four shots so precise that veteran hunters argued for weeks about the distances.

She tracked the notorious Saddleback Twins for ninety miles through dead canyon country, caught them asleep, and escorted them back into town without a scratch on her or them.

In Bitter Springs, she shot the spur off a bandit’s boot from a rooftop at dusk—to warn him—then took him alive five minutes later, scolding him calmly the entire walk to the jail.

And most famous of all: Mika Thorn never missed a hunt.

Despite the stories, Mika didn’t swagger. She didn’t boast.

Her strength was quieter: patience, accuracy, and a sharp, sweet smile that always arrived right before trouble did.

Dry Creek sat nestled between two ridges, its weathered storefronts soaking in the early morning light. But the usual hum—the clatter of water buckets, the morning greetings, the piano warming up in the saloon—felt thinner today. Stretched.

 
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