Spring at San Miguel Wells

Short and sweet: this Western works because Nora is allowed to be competent and complicated. The opening vignette — her arriving on Bluebird, the wanted poster with Jesse’s jawline like their father’s — is gutting and sets the tone. I liked the town’s texture (livery, sawing men, a sprawled dog) and the stakes (water control is a great, believable motive for villainy). Felt authentic, brisk, and satisfying.

Well, I didn’t expect to get emotionally invested in a horse-shoeing heroine, but here we are. Nora Hart kicks ass in sensible boots. The scene where she lets the reins go slack and lifts her hat — simple, economical — told me everything I needed to know about her: keeping a cool head, sizing up a town. The poster reveal felt like a punch to the gut (nice touch with the paste streaks like dried tears). And the water baron? Deliciously villainous. I loved the slow build of menace — dust, rain, and then gunfire — and the way the hired gun shows up as a real threat, not just a name on a ballot. It’s an old recipe, sure, but it’s made with good ingredients. If you want grit, horses, and a protagonist who actually uses her hands to solve problems, saddle up. 🤠

I devoured Spring at San Miguel Wells in a single sitting. From the first line — the roan mare moving into town, the telegraph wire singing — I was hooked. Nora Hart is a brilliant central figure: practical, scarred by war but steady, someone who knows horses better than people and whose love for her brother is quietly fierce. The moment she sees Jesse’s wanted poster tacked beside the saloon is small and devastating; the line “her brother’s name leapt at her as if it had teeth” still rings in my head. The author builds atmosphere like a slow, patient burn — dust and creosote, cicadas, the memory of a storm — and then lets tension bloom. I loved the sensory details (the rasp and nippers in her saddlebags, Bluebird’s easy jog) and the way allies are introduced: clever, practical townsfolk instead of cardboard sidekicks. The reveal of the water baron choking the town felt earned, and the hired gun brought real danger. The showdown in the rain — messy, loud, and human — felt true to the frontier setting. If you like Westerns with heart, grit, and a stubborn heroine who refuses to let family go, this is for you.

This is a finely wrought Western. The prose trusts the reader with small, precise images — Bluebird blowing, the rasp in Nora’s saddlebags, the hawk making a lazy ellipse — and those details accumulate into a vivid sense of place and time. Nora’s trade as a farrier is not window dressing; it shapes her thinking and actions in convincing ways, and the author uses that knowledge to create believable problem-solving scenes (I especially appreciated the scene where she examines hoof tracks outside town). Plotwise, the arc is classical: outsider rides in, finds kin accused, follows spoor, uncovers corrupt power. Yet the book avoids cliché by grounding action in character: Nora’s war history, her hands-on skill, and her quiet loyalty to Jesse keep stakes personal. The water baron and hired gun are effective antagonists because they represent different threats — economic strangulation and immediate violence — and the author balances them well. A touch more development for some secondary characters would have made the town feel even richer, but overall this is a strong, atmospheric read with a compelling moral center.

I wanted to love this — the premise is solid, and Nora is a promising character — but the story leans too heavily on familiar Western tropes and predictable plotting. The wanted poster with Jesse’s likeness, the corrupt water baron choking the town, the hired gun who shows up just when needed: none of these felt surprising. A few scenes (the livery, the telegraph wire humming) are nicely observed, but a lot of the middle drags as the narrative ticks boxes rather than complicates them. There are also a few logistical holes that pulled me out: how exactly the water baron secured his monopoly isn’t explored in depth, and some of the townspeople’s sudden readiness to back Nora stretches credibility. Pacing is uneven — vivid openings give way to stretches that could use tightening — and certain confrontations resolve a little too neatly for my taste. Not terrible by any means, and the writing has charm, but I expected more nuance and surprise from the setup.

Spring at San Miguel Wells is one of those rare genre pieces that feels both faithful to Western tradition and refreshingly modern. What stands out most is how the author leans into the material specifics of Nora’s work as a farrier: the tools clinking in her saddlebags (rasp, nippers, driving hammer), the way she reads a hoof as others might read faces. This attention to craft makes her resourcefulness believable — when she tracks signs toward the hired gun or interprets water-use patterns that implicate the baron, you feel the logic behind each move. The book’s atmosphere is its other triumph. The opening paragraphs do the heavy lifting, summoning cicadas, creosote, and the scent of a storm spent two nights prior. Those textures continue: the livery’s yawning doors, men sawing through cottonwood, a hawk circling overhead. These are small moments that build a living, breathing frontier town and make the eventual stakes — a well withheld from the people — resonate beyond mere plot mechanics. I particularly loved the moral clarity of Nora’s quest: freeing her brother is personal, but freeing the well is an act of communal justice. There are moments when pacing slows as the novel luxuriates in its landscapes and character beats; readers in search of relentless action might want a sharper tempo. But for those who appreciate layered world-building and a heroine whose competence comes from craft rather than contrivance, this is an evocative, satisfying read. The ending’s rain-soaked gunfire felt earned rather than melodramatic, and I was left thinking about the town long after the book closed.