A Quick Peek at Red in Tooth and Claw

I'm finishing up my copy edits today, which means me fussing over small details but also laughing because I've created a book that makes a copy editor have to put in comments like, "I'm assuming there are two based on the average pulling capacity of a donkey so I'm just going to go ahead and make it plural throughout." More donkeys, more better, I say. 

Today's very wee snippet is your first real look at William Speed, my gunslinger character:

The driver, Mr. Cartwright, was skinny, all rawhide and bones, with sun-tanned  skin and fat black muttonchops on his cheeks. Broken veins traced his nose and cheeks like a map of wandering creeks. “You sit in the back. Be careful of my cargo. You damage anything, you’re paying for it.” He didn’t look away from his donkeys as he said this.

The gunslinger was taller by inches, wider by several more, but leanly muscled. His skin was a deep brown with an undertone of bronze, the hair in his beard just starting to go a little gray, though he didn’t look much over thirty. He was dressed finer than Cartwright but not fussy like Mr. Clarke. Brown trousers, sturdy leather boots, and a good black jacket that were simple, but well-made  and well maintained. He wore a hat like mine—wide-brimmed but in a newer style, with a higher crown. I thought it mighty fine myself and more dashing than the bowler hat on Cartwright. He ambled over to me, and his coat flared, revealing a pistol on each hip, resting in a worn leather holster.

I squinted at him. “Am I just supposed to call you Gunslinger, then?”

“Either that or Mr. Speed.” He held out a hand, sizing me up.

I shook it, doing the same.

He sighed, his brow furrowing. “You going to give me any trouble?”

“No, sir,” I said, releasing his hand and putting mine over my heart. “You won’t hear a peep out of me.”

He snorted. “That’s what I thought.”