About Just a Cowboy, A Jackass Flats Story
by Julia Talbot
141 pages / 22300 words
ISBN: 978-1-61040-055-8
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Dalton is a young cowboy running from a secret, one he doesn't think he
can be forgiven for. Herschel is just a thirty-something cowboy who thinks
everyone deserves a second chance. Herschel hires Dalton to work on his
ranch, knowing the kid needs all the confidence and TLC Hersch can give.
Herschel might just be the best thing that has ever happened to Dalton. He's
worried about his past, but finally decides to trust in the future. Just
when he's about to tell Herschel everything, all hell breaks loose. Will
Herschel be able to help Dalton face his past, or will they both end up
alone?
Sample
Herschel watched the new kid buck a green-broke mare,
the little blue roan stiff in the legs and arched in the back. The new kid
looked loose and easy, though, making him think he’d done a good thing in
the hiring.
Sometimes you just didn’t know when a cowboy showed up at your corral,
carrying all he owned on his back and begging a job. Herschel knew he could
do background checks and call the IRS and all, but he liked to think he was
carrying on a cowboy tradition. You hired a man on the basis of his
handshake and the way he looked you in the eye, and you kept him on based on
his work.
So, here he was, watching the kid work, and so far it all looked good.
The mare finally stopped bucking and stood, shivering and blowing, until
another hand came running out and grabbed her halter. Slowly, easily, belly
to the saddle and feet kicking loose first, the new kid slid to the ground,
letting the mare feel him all the way. She didn’t balk, just let him get off
her back, turning her head to nose him cautiously when he patted her neck.
Herschel was pretty damned impressed.
“So, what’d you think?” the kid asked, coming over and grinning at him,
spreading out a face full of freckles.
“I think you did good. You wasn’t grandstanding, like some roughstock rider,
and you let her have her space once she did what you asked. Decent day’s
work.”
“Thanks.” The summer straw hat came off, the kid’s red curls shining in the
sun. Then that head tilted, the grin going even wider. “You cain’t remember
my name, can you?”
“Sure I can.” Dustin. Devon. D-something.
“Dalton.”
“Right. That.” Winking, Herschel clapped the kid on the back. “Grub’s at
six. Then you’re on your own.”
“Hey, you have a big old TV in the front room of the bunkhouse. Satellite. I
saw it when I stowed my gear. That’s all I need.”
“Then we’re set. I like your style, son.”
“Cool.” Dalton gave him a shrewd look from a pair of bright green eyes. “I
ain’t a kid. I’m twenty-eight.”
Herschel nodded. “I know. I saw your application.” He shrugged, thinking how
his buddy Tate and him would go to the local rodeos and sneer at anyone
under thirty-five. “That makes you a kid to me.”