Turner's Vision

By: Suzanne Ferrell

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS



The Ferrell team always deserves a big thank you!

I’d like to think my cover artist, Lyndsey Lewellen of LLewellen Designs. Your covers are making the fictional town of Westen come alive!

My formatters at Libris in CAPS. Mitch and Alison have done such a great job!

And my editor, Tanya Saari. Thanks for helping make my stories the best they can be!

To my friend, Julie Benson, who years ago taught me to hate the question “Why?”, but made me think long and hard about the motivation to characters. This was the exclamation mark book!

To my critique partner, Sandy Blair. Thanks for reading and pointing me to any big errors. It’s always fun to hear your thoughts on my characters and stories, but it’s heart-warming to know how much you hear my voice in each story. Couldn’t do this without you!





AUTHOR'S NOTE

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for trying my Indie published book. I understand that there are many options for you to spend your money on and am honored that you chose one of my books. For that reason my team and I strive to put out the best product we can from the awesome cover design through the entire editing and formatting process. For my part, I hope to deliver an entertaining story that keeps you wondering what’s going to happen next.

If at the end of this book you find you simply loved the story and characters, please consider giving it a positive rating or review. In this brave new book world, the only way for a good story to find its way into the hands of other readers is if the people who loved it let others know about it. We authors appreciate any little bit of help you can give us.

If, when you reach the end of this story, you think, “Wow, I’d love to know what’s next in Suzanne’s world of characters,” then consider joining my newsletter mailing list. I only send out newsletters a few times a year plus extra ones in anticipation of any new releases, so it won’t be flooding your inbox on a weekly basis, but will keep you abreast on any changes I may have coming.

Also, I love to hear from readers. If you have any questions or comments, or just want to say “hi”, please feel free to visit my webpage for some extra tidbits or check out my Pinterest boards. You can connect with me via Facebook, Twitter or through my email: [email protected]





PROLOGUE

“Micah.”

The soft Southern voice whispered to him out of the grey mist.

“Micah, I need you.”

“Patrice?”

“I’m here. I hurt so badly.”

“Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you,” he said, trying to walk towards her voice, but the ground beneath him kept shifting and swaying.

“I can’t tell you. I don’t know.” Her voice broke and he suddenly saw her face. Bruised. Battered. Tears rolling down through soot, her silver eyes full of pain. “They hurt me, Micah.”

“Who? Who did this to you?”

“You know…” his sister said, fading back into the mist.

“Patrice!”





CHAPTER ONE

Washington, D.C. 1882



Hidden by the early-evening shadows, Micah Turner leaned against the light post across the cobblestoned street from the small library.

As he waited for the last patron to leave, he tugged at the starched white collar of his new shirt. He’d give a twenty-dollar gold piece to be wearing his deerskin tunic, Levi dungarees and calf-high moccasins. The confines of his fancy suit, and the humidity of late May in the Chesapeake Basin, had him feeling restless. Too many buildings, too many people.

Right now, he longed for the cool Colorado mountain air. Yet his visions—his own personal hell—gave him no rest. He must find his sister, Patrice.

When he left the mountains six months before, he’d only had a sense of uneasiness about her. Then a vision of her crying and begging for him flashed into his mind on the long train ride from Colorado to their old home in Georgia. There, he discovered she’d disappeared while visiting an old school friend in the nation’s capital.

A movement from across the street caught his attention.

Sliding to the side of the post, he lifted the newspaper in his hand, and slumped even more.

A tall, thin man—one Micah had hoped long dead, exited the library.

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