The fifth Colter Farrow novel, the first one I've written in about six years--my, how the time does do-si-do!--is finally here. It's nearly 100-thousand words of pure action and adventure. With a little lovin' thrown in to keep the guitars strummin'. Here's a teaser:
Colter stepped out away from the cliff wall and loudly clicked back the Remington’s hammer, leveling the revolver on the three silhouettes standing by the brush lining the arroyo. “You fellas lost?”
“Ah, shit,” said Blue Mitchum under his breath.
“Yeah, that’s it—we’re lost.” Colter couldn’t see the men’s faces, but he thought that was Hansel Price’s voice, thick from drink and pitched with mocking.
“Shut up,” ordered Neely Wade. “Miller? I mean—Farrow?”
Colter said, “I’m gonna give you fellas a piece of very valuable advice. Turn around and hightail it back to town.”
“And if we don’t?” That was Price again.
“Shut up,” Wade reprimanded the smart-ass again. Raising his voice, he said, “We’re here for the girl. That’s all.”
“If you were just here for the girl, you wouldn’t be carryin’ them rifles.”
None of the three said anything for a good twenty seconds. They just stood there—three man-shaped silhouettes backlit slightly by the silver leaves of the willows lining the arroyo.
Finally, Wade said, “Why don’t you just fetch her for us, an’ we’ll be on our way, Farrow?”
“She’s sound asleep,” Colter said. “I’ll bring her back to town first thing in the morning.”
Neely’s voice was sharp with anger. “It ain’t right—her bein’ alone out here with you. We’ll bring her back to town and avoid a scandal.”
“You three head back to town and avoid a funeral.”