About Jackass Flats
Written by Julia Talbot
90 pages / 31000 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-518-9, 1-60370-518-X
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc
Tate feels like the best part of life has probably passed him by, which is why the thirty-something cowboy hits the bar every night. When he meets Dave, a young soldier from a nearby Army base, though, Tate figures things might be looking up. He and Dave get off to a rocky start, but Tate soon finds that he and the kid have enough in common to make things interesting.
Dave isn't really into the whole don't ask, don't tell thing, and he doesn't bother to hide his relationship with Tate from his friends. Once he realizes he should have, it may be too late, but Dave is willing to fight for Tate, even if it means taking on the military. Can a traveling military man and a set in his ways cowboy find a way to make things work?
Look for the second Jackass Flats novella in early 2009.
Review
Jane Davitt, author of Wild Raspberries, writes: Jackass Flats is an engaging story about two superficially very different men; Dave, the young soldier who's just transferred to White Sands base in New Mexico, and Tate, a cowboy in his mid-thirties, who's settled down on his land and doesn't want to sell, no matter how much his sister nags him.
Gentle, sweet, the bond between the two of them is formed as soon as Dave offers a drunk Tate a ride home and the months that follow only deepen it.
The two of them have their problems, of course, both within the relationship as Tate's self-doubt keeps him wary of moving quickly and Dave becomes restive, and without. Julia Talbot weaves a darker thread into the story as Dave and his career are targeted by supposed friends and old enemies, but the growing love between the two characters is a shield for them both.
The story gives the reader two appealing, distinctive characters and an interesting, well-depicted location. I loved the scene set at the hot springs on Tate's land and could almost smell the sulfur.
Definitely a feel-good story, as sweet as a sopapilla and with flashes of the fiery heat of a good chili.
Sample
Dave pulled off a bit from the turn off and put the Dodge into park. The dome light popped on, making Tate yelp and squeeze his eyes shut, the sudden brightness more than he could take.
"Jesus, kid."
"Nope. Dave. Look at me, Tate. It's Tate, right?"
"Uh-huh." Opening his eyes seemed harder than it should, but not because of the sleepy. More the spinny. He did it, though, staring into bright green eyes, the color true as a fucking crayon.
"Shit. You're totally gone. Well, we can wait here for Ram and he can follow me back to your place, then take me back to the bar."
Tate blinked. The kid's growl seemed to come from nowhere, with no damned provocation. "Oh, fuck that," he said, opening the truck door and sliding out into the snow. "I'll just walk back. You leave my girl here and I'll hike up and get her in the morning."
"Are you crazy?" The driver's door popped open and Dave appeared in front of him, snow covering the down jacket fast, making the kid look like the Michelin man. "Look, I'm sorry I snarled, okay? Come on, sit in the truck. The way Ram drives it'll be five minutes, tops, then I'll be out of your hair."
Well… It was awful cold. Tate nodded, slogging back to the truck and climbing in. They both settled in, the heater warming them through again, and Tate turned to get another look.
High and tight in an indeterminate brown color. Those pretty green eyes. Strong jaw and heavy shoulders with very little neck to be seen with the coat. Built like a brick shithouse…
"Is Ram your boyfriend?" he asked, not even thinking it might be a bad question.
"What? No! No. Jesus. He's just a buddy."
"Oh." Tate nodded sagely. "Buddy."
Dave's eyes narrowed, the shock becoming a glare. "You don't believe me? He's married, has three kids. He's just been a good mentor to me since I've been here."
"Sorry, sorry." Holding up his hands, Tate grinned, trying not to burp in the guy's face. "I was just making a stupid joke, okay?"
"Yeah, well watch the jokes. Oh, thank God."
Headlights appeared behind them, another, far newer pick-up pulling up alongside.
"Trouble, man?" a Dave clone called from the other vehicle.
"Too cold to walk. Follow me down?"
"Sure!"
Then they were off, and before Tate could even blink, really, he was home, a military escort on either side of him, the guys walking him to his kitchen door.
"Here you go, Tate," Dave said, helping him get the door open.
"Thanks." He shrugged a little. "I mean, really. Sorry if I was an ass." He smiled, glad as hell to be home. "I'm a little drunk." He pulled out his wallet and tried to give them ten bucks for gas, which they refused, and he argued until Ram threatened to pop him one.
Dave laughed finally, clapping him on the shoulder. "No problem, huh? Just don't make me drive you home ever again."
"Sure. You bet." He watched them walk away, looking like a poster for being all they could be, and figured the chances of seeing Dave ever again were pretty remote.
Damned good thing, too. Army types were far too law-abiding for an old cowboy like him.