Henry figured that the reason the Cheyenne had always ridden Appaloosas into battle was because by the time the men got there, they were so angry with the horses they were ready to kill everything.

He mulled that over. "Sheriff Connally woulda let us shoot 'em." I reached over and took his coffee away from him. "Yep. Lucian probably would have done the job himself, but we're living in more enlightened times." I drained his cup and handed it back with a smile. "Ain't it grand?

The place was packed as we flooded in, all the patrons freezing at the sight of an armed sheriff, two deputies, an Indian, and a construction worker; we probably looked like the Village People.

We've never done a coordinated music effort. Everything else we've done has been around a holiday - Halloween, Mardi Gras, half way to Mardi Gras, St. Patrick's Day.

I looked over at her; if women knew how good they looked in the dash light of oversized pickup trucks, they'd never get out of them.

Maybe there really isn't any such thing as mortality; life simply wears us out with love.

Writing is a solitary pursuit and I think you have to be partially at peace with yourself, but it's the other part that's usually producing the stuff worth reading.