CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Two days later, Flynn and Jesus were sitting on the hitching post of the cantina while Maria was relaxing on a bench beside the adobe wall.
A thunderous noise erupted up the village street. Cory was riding his horse hellbent for leather, nearly running down children, and cursing everyone in his way. His horse was covered with sweat and lather. He jerked back on the reins for a running stop. The horse reared on its hind legs, and then the forefeet dropped to the ground, inches in front of the hitching post.
Cory swung out of the saddle. He was covered with sweat and his hairy chest was filled with the gray powdery dust of the desert.
"This has to be the asshole of the world. Flynn—only you could dream up a hellhole like this to meet in."
Flynn stared into Cory's eye
