About Arson!
by Cap Iversen
332 pages / 77000 words
ISBN:
978-1-60370-378-9
Ebook zipped file contains - html, lit, Adobe and Sony optimized pdf, prc,
epub
Dakota Taylor is a gunfighter with a low dose of morals. He likes his
horse, and that’s about it. But when Dakota is hired by the young and
handsome Bennie Colsen to hunt down and kill the person responsible for
murdering his family, he finds himself more emotionally involved than a
legendary gunfighter wants to admit. He finds himself falling for Bennie
Colsen, and coming face to face against another deadly gunfighter…Ryder
McCloud, his ex-lover.
Who killed the Colsen family? Why is there a drought in the evil town of
Turnpike? What is the Eternal Spring? And what do the Hopi Indians have to
do with it? It’s up to Dakota Taylor to find out and avenge the death of the
Colsen family. That’s what he was hired to do. But, when Dakota Taylor gets
revenge… all Hell breaks loose.
Review
Stevie Woods, author of Zimaya Heights, writes: When gunfighter, Dakota
Taylor, accepts a job from Benjamin Colsen to find and kill those
responsible for the death of his family, Dakota gets more than he
bargained for.
I was quickly swept up in this story of the old west. I could feel the
heat and taste the merciless desert and it was if I’d been transported
back to a time when life was considerably harder and it seemed life had
less value – or did it?
The story is written in the first person, and I particularly liked the
voice of Dakota, the man was just so honest, at least to himself. None
of the characters were black and white; there were so many shades of
grey. I could imagine sitting to tea at the rancher’s table or drinking
a whisky at the saloon under the watchful eye of a suspicious cowboy.
The plot gathered momentum until I wasn’t sure in which direction we’d
be moving next. The ending wasn’t quite what I expected but it fit this
story perfectly. This is the first book by Cap Iverson that I have read,
but it won’t be the last. Thoroughly enjoyed and highly recommended!
Sample
I stopped at the saloon. A rickety sign overhanging the
door, sort of lopsided and faded just said: Saloon. It was a dusty place,
dark and empty, except for tow old fells in a far corner. They were drinking
heavily. Town drunks, I assumed. I didn’t pay much attention to them; they
paid lots of attention to me. I ordered beer. It was too early for whiskey.
The bartender, a square-jawed man with a thick Irish accent, was about as
friendly as the rest of the townsfolk. Like the boys in a far corner he was
eyeing my guns. Either people in Turnpike didn’t wear guns or mine were real
frightening. Good. I wanted to instill a little fear into them.
“Know where I can find James Anderson?”
“You got money, mister?”
I flipped a coin towards him. He slammed the beer down. Foam sloshed over
the side of the mug onto his already sticky countertop. Then he turned his
back to me and pretended to busy himself at the cash box. Staring at the
back of his head, my neck reddening at his rudeness, I reluctantly concluded
it was too early to kill the bartender.
Discreetly, real friendly-like, a strong hand rested heavily on my thigh,
and started moving slowly up. Normally, I would have swung around and shot
somebody – I didn’t like a hand getting that close to my guns. Now, I
couldn’t say I recognized the hand, but I’d recognize the scent of this
across a sandstorm.
In a sexy, gravelly voice, he said, “Dakota Taylor.”
A slow, easy smile swept across my face. “Ryder McCloud.”
He was tall, slender, with brown wavy hair, a mustache, and bluish gray
eyes. Handsome. Looked a hell of a lot like me. When we spent time together
in Santa Fe, folks were always mistaking us for brothers. Excepting he held
on card higher than mine: he had dimples. They flashed at me.
“What are you doing in Turnpike?” He grinned.
“What are you doing in Turnpike?” I grinned.
We were both hired guns. We both knew that. And we both knew we were up to
something. I could outshoot him. We both knew that, too.
“Got me a respectable job with one of the ranchers around here,” he said.
Yeah, bullshit. I swished lukewarm beer around in my mouth to keep from
choking. “Me, too.”
“No kidding.”
“Dead serious.”
“So, what are you carrying them for? All bright and shiny?”
“You know me, Ryder. I was born with these here guns attached to my sides. I
even sleep with them.”
“I know. Made sleeping with you kind of dangerous.”
I looked down at his waist. Two Colts were strapped on tight. “Don’t
remember you sleeping with yours.”
“Nah. These are for coyotes. Got to protect the boss’s newborns from
coyotes.”
“What boss?”
“Told you.” He picked up a toothpick off the bar and stuck it between his
teeth. “Got me a job with a cattleman, protecting fence lines, baby cows
from rustlers, and his daughter from randy, young farm boys.” He laughed at
himself.
I laughed, too. He was cute when he laughed. Something he did a lot of, not
like Benjamin Whatshisname.
“Who are you working for, Ryder?”
“J.T. Anderson. James T.”
Somehow I wasn’t surprised. He rolled the toothpick around on his tongue,
purposely looking real, real good.
“Rumor is, the Colsen kid went and hired a gun.”
Geezus, I had only been here for one night. “Who’s that?”
He grinned big and wide. “I thought about taking the job myself. He’s one
fine-looking boy, colder than ice cream, but fine. Unfortunately, the money
wasn’t there.”
“You know anything about those killings?”
“Sure. Old Man Colsen lost his head, killed his family, and hung himself.”
I really laughed. Loud. The two drunks in the corner turned around to look
at me, and then shook their heads. Laughter must startle these people.
“Before or after he burned his ranch?”
“I can see you don’t believe me. Don’t matter. I only got here a few days
ago myself. I’m just repeating what folks are saying.”
“That’s what they’re saying? Even if it was true, why would he do it?”
“I don’t know if you noticed this, Dakota, but people around here aren’t
real friendly. Especially when it came to a family of redcoat sheep farmers.
They gave them a hard time, pushed them out of town, out of the church, put
a lot of pressure on the old man. Besides, they were flat broke. The bank
was foreclosing on them.”
“Broke?”
Ryder nodded slowly. “I don’t know what the kid promised to pay you. He
ain’t got half a cent to his name. The only thing he has is that pile of
rocks he’s living on. Unless, of course, he’s paying you with something
other than gold. You’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face.”
Not that big a sucker.
“Why does Anderson want that land?”
“Hell if I know. And it ain’t just Anderson. It’s everyone. Every cattleman
and businessman in this town are tripping over each other to get to that
mountain.”
“Why? I’ve seen it. It ain’t nothing but rock.”
Ryder shrugged, as if her were growing bored with the conversation. If
memory served me, he was capable of playing long and hard, but it was
difficult holding his attention when it came to serious matters. “Like I
said, I only got here a few days ago. I’m just repeating gossip. But it
appears some boys are willing to kill for it. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be
here, would we?” His hand was back on my thigh, squeezing gently. “It’s a
lazy hot day. They got some rooms upstairs with lots of shadows and curtains
to cool things down.”
That was mighty tempting. Making long, leisurely love to Ryder McCloud on a
hot, sultry day was an event I’d normally ride fast and furious to attend.
It was the heat that drove us indoors in Santa Fe for two wild, drunken
weeks. I had a warm spot tucked inside of me belonging to Ryder. Every time
I looked into his eyes, I saw my eyes. When he talked, I heard my voice.
Being with Ryder was like being with myself without the lonely.
But I have this instinct, sort of like a sixth sense or something, so sharp
it’s kept me alive way past by due time. It was that instinct that warned me
a man was about to draw seconds before he did. An instinct that told me to
turn west when I was heading east just before a blizzard crossed my path. An
instinct I trusted and acted on, no questioning. It was that instinct
telling me now that Ryder was in town to kill Benjamin Colsen, Jr., and I
was in town to protect Benjamin Colsen, Jr., and whatever fumbling I might
do in my life, I never mix business with pleasure. Anyway, I haven’t yet.