FROM THE KING OF THE SEXY, HARDBOILED
WESTERN!
For a while, Dag Enberg managed to hold
onto his job as shotgun rider for the Yuma Line. Logan Cates worked it into his
deal with Bud Normandy, whom Cates sold the line to. Cates lies dying in his
big Victorian house overlooking the little desert town of Mineral Springs.
As is always his way, however, Dag once
again becomes his own worst enemy. He gets himself fired when he raises a
drunken ruckus in the Diamond in the Rough Saloon and beds the beautiful--and
off-limits-- Zenobia Chevere.
“Enberg’s March,” the night comes to be
called. Enberg’s explosion of lust and violence will live on in legend.
While much of the town might find
Enberg’s stunt amusing, his wife does not. Emily heads out with her mother on
the next stage. Though she’s pregnant with Dag’s child, her crazy Norski
husband has finally pushed her too far.
When Apaches run down Emily’s stage,
Enberg finds himself with maybe one more chance to win back his wife as well as
his honor...if the Apaches don’t slow-roast him over a low fire before he can
find her...
“Grab the sonofabitch!” shouted Marshal
Clemens, climbing to his feet and retrieving his hat, a wing of mussed,
gray-blond hair hanging over his right eye.
Two deputies jumped on Enberg. They
weren’t nearly as big as Dag, and he shrugged one off easily, punched the other
one, and then stepped over Normandy and stumbled off down the hall toward the
stairs. He was grinning now, feeling exhilarated from both his sex with Zee and
the fight.
When he was filled with whiskey, he
loved nothing more than sex and a fight, not necessarily in that order.
Men stormed him from behind, and two
more went flying. One punched Enberg in the back of the head and then in his
ear, grunting as he hammered away at the big Norwegian. Enberg hardly felt the blows.
He returned both punches to the man’s mouth, smashing the man’s lips and
sending him stumbling back into the others, his mouth a bloody mess.
Enberg swung around, laughing, and
continued on to the stairs. As he started down the steps, he yelled to Underhill
who was still working behind the bar, “Another bottle, Wade. That first one
went down like communion wine!”
