Preview of my next novel.

This one is in the editing stages and will soon be finished. Here's a quick preview of the beginning:

The moment Thomas stepped out of the carriage, the very dirt of Canton told him he should go home. It stuck and squished, hissing at him quietly. He didn't listen.

He pulled the brim of his homburg down against the glare of the brutal Alabama sun and turned to pay his coachman. A couple extra nickels would hopefully bring the man back here more quickly when the time came to leave.

Canton wasn't a place he wanted to be. Without the cover of trees, the sun baked the town's single street. Yet, it was unable to burn away the dampness underfoot or the vague, unplaceable malodor of the place. It was nothing but a double row of clapboard storefronts; it would fit right into one of the dime westerns he'd read growing up if it was in a desert rather than a swamp.

The coachman, a stout, heavyset man who always smelled like beer even though Thomas had never seen him drink a drop, heaved himself up with a melodramatic groan and dropped down next to Thomas on the street. “Whelp, this is Bixby,” he observed – unnecessarily, since the proud, dilapidated sign outside the town said as much. “Where you wanna unload your bags?”

“At the inn.”

The coachman jutted his lips out and shook his head. “Ain't none.”

Well, that was going to be problematic. What kind of a town would have no place at all for travelers to stop? Thomas had thought he knew perfectly well what 'backwoods' meant back in Pennsylvania, but even so, the long trip to Bixby had been an education. He looked around the town, careful to avoid eye contact with any of the locals staring at him.

The porch in front of the dry goods store looked dry and clean – and nobody was sitting on it and watching him. “Let's just put them down over there.”

Thomas followed alongside as the coachman took his horse by the bridle and traversed the soft street, the carriage drawing deep ruts across it. Once there, Thomas stopped and began hauling his luggage from the back.

The horse jittered as the coachman ran past it. He met Thomas just as the first canvas-sided suit case clunked onto the wooden porch.