Best Selling Western Books Novels & Stories

Just a boy from California who became a bit of a rancher, lived with his wife, horses, dog, blah blah blah. Huh. My dad wrote western mystery novels under a pseudonym. That explained why he didn't seem to have a job. He probably didn't need to work beyond this. He had at least two different series of books, one historical and one modern. I'd seen them probably a million times in bookstores and had dismissed them as work for middle-aged women with cowboy fantasies. I smiled. There was definitely money here.

Wondrous eyes drifted past the three outcasts, the streets beginning to become busier and busier as time started to tick on and on, and the church bell rang out loudly signaling that it was nine am. “Oh,” Cassidy’s tight face, all traces of her angelic delicate self from this morning gone and replaced with a devilish smirk, pushing a finger into Dodge’s shoulder; the Reaper hardly flinching as his eyes soaked in the Viper. “I’m not bringin’ hell, I’m fuckin’ raisin’ it,” Both men watched with tight pants as Cassidy turned back around, hips swaying as she continued walking. * Ruby, the saloon girl who informed Dodge and Cassidy about Weston’s living arrangements outside of Dodge City, kissed

"Yes. We close at nine." The man walked toward the desk, his heavy boots echoing in the empty space. He pulled a stack of four hardcover books from inside his jacket, somehow keeping them dry. He set them on the counter with a solid thud. "Returning these. Didn't want to get hit with another fine. You guys are ruthless." Owen looked at the books. They were all westerns. Louis L'Amour. "We prefer to think of it as incentivizing punctuality." The man laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the quiet room. "I bet you do. I'm Jax, by the way."

Warren exclaimed excitedly, "60 thousand!" Stunned, Mindy asked reflexively, "What do you mean, 60 thousand?" "The daily sales! Yesterday's daily sales had exceeded 60 thousand books! It broke the sales record set by "Murder Weapon" back then! In the last ten… no, 20 years… There hasn't been a book that achieved this level of sales!" Warren emphasized each word he spoke, "Ms. Harrison, your new book has exploded!"

They circled the herd and quietly started it moving to the northwest, waving a rope now and then to get the horses in motion but saying as little as possible. Newt could not help feeling a little odd about it all, since he had somehow had it in his mind that they were coming to Mexico to buy horses, not steal them. It was puzzling that such a muddy little river like the Rio Grande should make such a difference in terms of what was lawful and what not. On the Texas side, horse stealing was a hanging crime, and many of those hung for it were Mexican cowboys who came across the river to do pretty much

VOLUME SIX: A COWBOY AND HIS SWEET SPOT Carter's ass bounced on the hard seat of his banged-up pickup truck as he drove across the state line into Wyoming. Man, he was tired, and his butt hurt. Riding fourteen hours on the back of a horse was much more comfortable than six on the worn-out seat in the truck.