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    Bitten by Snake Oil
    Bitten by Snake Oil
    Bitten by Snake Oil
    Ebook87 pages1 hour

    Bitten by Snake Oil

    By Shiloh Saddler

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Since the death of his wife four years ago, blacksmith Jed Riker has been fighting his attraction to men. When sexy medicine-show man Peter Saint comes into Tumbleweed, Kansas, Jed buys his potion hoping for a cure, but receives vivid erotic dreams of the perfectly built salesman instead.

    Jed uses all his strength and energy to fight the attraction in a town where the local preacher’s hellfire and damnation sermons promise repercussions if he dares to act on them. Can Peter Saint’s potions offer a solution and free the blacksmith to live and love as he wishes and not as his closed-minded neighbors demand?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDecadent Publishing
    Release dateDec 14, 2014
    ISBN9781613337752
    Bitten by Snake Oil

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      Book preview

      Bitten by Snake Oil - Shiloh Saddler

      The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

      Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

      This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      Bitten by Snake Oil

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright © 2014 by Shiloh Saddler

      ISBN: 978-1-61333-775-2

      Cover art by Syneca Featherstone

      All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

      Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

      Look for us online at:

      www.decadentpublishing.com

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      By

      Shiloh Saddler

      A Beyond Fairytales Adaptation of The Brothers’ Grimm’s:

      The Old Man Made Young Again

      Prologue

      1885, Kansas

      Nicodemus smiled and motioned for the crowd of adults to enter the circus tent. This was the last night the circus would be in Jefferson Corner, Kansas, and he had promised those in attendance something special—another story. Many of the stories he’d told over the course of the circus had entertained the children, but this story was not for their ears, so he waited until the late hour when he was sure the young were tucked in bed.

      He stood on the stage, tall top hat perched on his head adding to his stature of only four feet. A blue tarantula sat on his shoulder, watching the people take their seats. While many of the folks would have paid a coin just to see his spider friend, they had come to hear him, the master storyteller. Outside, the circus crew had begun taking down the other tents and equipment.

      So many stories, he whispered to the arachnid. Which one should I tell? The last story was always the hardest to choose.

      Stroking the tarantula with one hand, he patted the air with the other, motioning for the crowd to quiet. You have all been very kind, Nicodemus said. Alas, my time in this town is drawing to a close. But, first, a parting tale.

      He scanned the faces and the clothing of his audience. Many wore their Sunday best for the occasion. His gaze fell upon a brawny man still in his brown canvas work trousers, the sleeves of his shirt torn off. The blacksmith.

      Yes, he murmured to the tarantula. That story will be perfect. The Western tale was one everyone in the audience could relate to.

      I have shared many stories with you, he said, his voice commanding their attention. But I doubt you have heard of this one. It took place in a small Western town similar to Tumbleweed. It is the story of a blacksmith and a man named Peter Saint.

      A young woman stood. You mean St. Peter?

      Nicodemus shook his head. No, ma’am. He was no saint; he had a medicine-show wagon.

      Oh. The woman took her seat again and ran her hands across her lap.

      His tarantula crawled into his scraggily beard and settled in for the story.

      He cleared his throat. Now time for my tale, he said, deepening the tone of his voice. Tonight, I will be a lonely blacksmith. Once upon a time….

      Chapter One

      Mr. Riker, a man called as I guided my mother-in-law down the stairs from my apartment

      Just a minute, I said, not looking at who had hailed me. All my attention focused on the wobbly old woman. Slowly, Martha took each step, her hand gripping the wooden railing. When we reached the bottom, Mr. Jones joined us.

      How are you today, Mrs. Abram? he asked.

      Enjoying the sunny day, she replied.

      She was perhaps the only person in Tumbleweed enjoying this hot spell.

      Something I can do for you, Mr. Jones?

      Just wondering if you had time to make me something special.

      My eyebrows rose. Mr. Jones was one of the wealthiest men in town, and I was curious to find out what he wanted made. Of course. I always have time for one of my best customers.

      Shouldn’t be too hard for you to do, he explained as we strolled toward the church. It is a secret, though.

      All right. Shall I ride out to your ranch tomorrow?

      He shook his head. Too many hands around with big ears. I’ll come to your place early in the morning.

      Fine.

      Mr. Jones opened the door, and I escorted Martha inside.

      I sat in the pew next to my mother-in-law, my spine as straight as an iron bar. Ever since my wife had passed away, I felt uncomfortable in church. Not that I’d ever liked going to service. If it hadn’t been for my mother-in-law turned permanent houseguest, I would have given up the practice long ago.

      Martha and I were accustomed to sitting in the back on account of her near-blindness and frailty. She shuffled along, and it took a long time for her to venture across the street. Some days I wondered if it would be easier to pick the petite woman up and carry her to her seat, but I wanted her to keep her dignity. I took a deep breath, trying to relax. Old age was not her fault, and taking care of her taught me patience although it frayed my nerves.

      Reverend Barlow’s voice echoed in the quiet room as he preached about the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah, railed about how the immoral would pay and spend eternity in the

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