MAVERICK
IN THE COMPANY OF SNIPERS
Book 9
IRISH WINTERS
COPYRIGHT
MAVERICK; In the Company of Snipers, 9
Copyright ©2015 by Irish Winters
All rights reserved
First Edition
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogues, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Cover design and author photo by Kelli Ann Morgan,
http://www.inspirecreativeservices.com
Interior book design by Bob Houston eBook Formatting
Editor: Lauren McKellar, McStellar editing,
http://mcstellarediting.blogspot.com
Editor: Katie Johnson, [email protected]
ISBN Paperback: 978-1-942895-15-2
ISBN eBook: 978-1-942895-16-9
Library of Congress Number: 2015951242
Irish Winter’s author website is http://www.irishwinters.com
or irishwinters.blogspot.com
IN THE COMPANY OF SNIPERS
This multi-book series revolves around ex-Marine scout sniper, Alex Stewart, and his covert surveillance company, The TEAM, home-based out of Alexandria, Virginia. An obsessive patriot and workaholic, he created the company to give ex-military snipers like him a chance and a decent job.
In the Company of Snipers is a collection of love stories. Book 1, ALEX, reveals how The TEAM came to be, as well as how Alex and Kelsey met, fell in love and fought all odds to stay together. Each of the following books is a complete romance in itself where, in the course of an active TEAM operation, one agent will come face to face with his or her demons. They’re all patriots and warriors, dealing with what they’ve lived through or the mistakes they’ve made.
By the end of the telling, it is my hope that you, my reader, will come to realize along with my heroes that...
Love changes everything.
Reviews for the series
In the Company of Snipers
ALEX, Book 1
“These characters were so well written at times I felt like I was feeling the love, the loss, and the triumph right along with them.” Amazeballs Book Addicts
MARK, Book 2
“Irish Winters has outdone her first book, Alex!” My Secret Book Spot
ZACK, Book 3
“This is my first book by Irish Winters and I have to say I'm sold!” ThePleasureofReadingToday.
“Fantastic. Around every corner it just keeps getting more intense.” Susan Sims
HARLEY, Book 4
“I have been so anxious to read Harley's book. He is one of the sweetest male heroes that I have come across in a long time.” ReadsAllTheBooks
CONNOR, Book 5
“Thrilling, suspenseful, heartbreaking and tender - you will not want to put this book down once you start.” Jen M.
RORY, Book 6
“WOW! Best one yet. From tears to smiles she had me right at the beginning.” Toni Harper
TAYLOR, Book 7
“Love this series and Irish Winters has become one of my favorite authors.” T. Beam
GABE, Book 8
“Ms. Winters gets better and better with every book in this series! This is action, adventure and romance at its finest!” LJ Vickery
Chapter One
Pretty girl.
She looked too young to be riding that large horse, but up she went through the new grass, rippling in lime-green waves across the steep mountainside. At least Maverick called it a mountain. Who knew? People in Wyoming called everything a hill. Maybe that was all it was.
He’d heard her before he saw her, which only made him curious. She’d called the animal beneath her Star as she’d charged by, praising him while he dutifully grunted uphill. Already lathered with sweat, her steed sounded more like a pig than a horse. His grunt was why Maverick bothered to look in the first place. A wild pig would’ve made a few tasty meals. A horse? Not so much.
The warm morning sun warmed his aching shoulders after the cool night sleeping on the—hill. He had just rolled his sleeping bag for another day’s travel and stood to stretch the stiffness away before he got back to the work at hand. Walking.
His old guitar rested against the bag, ready to go. The sight of a delicate woman on horseback, her denim-covered legs hugging the animal’s massive body as they flew upward and onward, soothed Maverick. It called to his soul of all things wild and free. Of no holds barred. Of hope. Of all the reasons he had walked halfway across the continent in the first place. For a moment, all was right with the world.
Life used to be different. He could’ve stayed employed and privileged in Virginia. Paid too much. Worked too little. His boss had surely tried to talk him out of leaving.
“You’ll always have a job here, son,” Alex Stewart had said at their final handshake.
Maverick respected Alex and his TEAM like few others, but the need to leave the past behind called. Sick and tired, his heart ached as deeply as his life sucked. He had returned the hard man’s grip, sublet his apartment and didn’t look back.
Two good pairs of work boots got him a long way from the Potomac River of Northern Virginia. It would have helped if he knew where he meant to end up when he first put the soles of those boots to the asphalt, but truth was? He didn’t. Didn’t even think. Just walked.
He learned the rules of the road the hard way. Most big-rig truckers could be trusted. Not all. Kansas sucked in the dead of winter. Big time. The interstates meant Highway Patrol. While most troopers went out of their way to be helpful, some thought they owned the road and the people on it. The back roads meant common folks who looked out for each other. Not always, but most of the time.
Nebraska resembled his home state of Ohio in a lot of ways. The standing fields of corn, for one. The football mania didn’t hurt, either. Huskers Red, the color of the University of Nebraska’s intercollegiate football team, blossomed everywhere. Like a plague. Almost as bad as the blazing red of their nemesis and their better, Maverick’s home team, the Ohio State Buckeyes, God bless ’em.
A splash of the morning breeze in his face drew Maverick back to the hillside with its unexpected view. He didn’t know much about horses, but it seemed this reddish-brown fellow wasn’t the usual breed for running. The big guy would’ve been better suited for a plow or wagon, harnessed up and pulling beer. He made a magnificent but massive sight, maybe because the rider on his back was so small.
She rode bareback. Her legs spread wide to accommodate the girth of the horse, her fingers buried in the black ruffles of his mane. They moved as one, her head tucked into his neck, her long, black hair blending with his mane in the wind. Damned magical.
What man wouldn’t stop to watch? Peace instilled into Maverick’s whole being at the sight of those two creatures in sync with each other and nature. It didn’t take much to imagine Star as a unicorn with a lovely fairy on his back. Looked like she had wings. Looked like she and that horse were flying.
Yeah, right. He turned away. The horse had no glittery horn sticking out of that big head. The girl had no wings. Magic was for little kids. If there ever were such a thing, it lay dead and buried on another grassy hillside called Arlington National Cemetery. His path lay elsewhere, somewhere along the highway below, not i
n the morning light on the hill.
Until Star screamed.
Maverick jolted around in time to catch sight of the horse rearing up, front hooves flailing and the ground collapsing beneath him. Another blood-curdling scream rent the morning peace and over the edge of the hill he slid, taking his elfin rider down with him in a cloud of red dust.
And God, Maverick couldn’t run fast enough to the edge of the rift, his heart thundering while rocks and earth settled below. A clean, half-moon cut of the hill he thought was solid rock had dropped into the ravine below.
Billowing dust obscured the sight, but not the screams of what had to be a dying horse. As terrifying as it sounded, Star’s squeal amongst the rattle of sliding stones and dirt meant he and the girl might still be alive.
Maverick doubted it. Life was an unfair gift, ripped away without warning. He stepped off the edge anyway, his boots scraping yard-long steps while he half-stumbled, half-slid on his butt the rest of the way. Panic hurried him, panic that he would arrive too late. That he couldn’t help once he got there. That God had played another damned, cruel joke.
He kept going, at last able to distinguish a toss of dark mane through the dust-laden air. It took seconds to get to Star. A screaming, snorting demon had replaced the magical unicorn. No sign of the girl.
“Steady boy.” Maverick soothed the animal as he approached from above. Well, that makes two of us. How could he soothe a horse scared out of its wits when his own heart was jackhammering?
The way Star had slid downhill had worked to his benefit. He had lain into the slide instead of fighting it and ended up buried on his left side more than his right. It had also prevented him from tumbling end-over-end. Nonetheless, his legs and belly and left side were encased in red sandy dirt. Only his head and neck and the barest part of his broad back cleared the rubble.
No sign of the girl. Damn. This was no rescue. Only a body recovery. Maverick’s stomach pitched at the thought. He forced a swallow. Not again.
Still standing above the horse, he crouched and placed his hand on the horse’s neck. Star tossed his head, bared his teeth and—growled? That was a first, but then what animal wouldn’t growl when confronted by the scumbag who just might have yanked the earth out from beneath him?
“Take it easy, big fella. Just here to help.” Maverick stretched a hand to that big, whiskered nose, half-afraid the gnashing, grunting animal with flared, wide nostrils might bite his fingers off.
Star didn’t. He nickered, stretched his nose and bumped Maverick’s palm as if he wanted another touch. Good enough. Maverick slid alongside the horse’s head, searching for signs of cuts or blood. “It’s okay to be scared. That was a helluva ride you just took, big guy.”
As if in answer, Star bowed his head. A shudder raced over him. An unexpected communication passed from horse to man. This horse was in better shape than Maverick expected. Scared maybe, but damned spunky. Both good signs. Maybe the rider had fared as well?
Hope flickered to life again.
God, I hope so.
He stepped away from Star and slid farther down the ravine, studying the loose ground for signs of a body as he descended. An arm. An exposed hand. A boot. Anything.
She has to be here.
A noise caught his ear. Maverick cocked his head to listen better. Star still wheezed and snorted, but this voice was more human. Softer. Feminine. He climbed back above the horse, planted his boots and stilled, needing with every last particle of his weary soul to find a living, breathing woman instead of a broken body.
The murmur again. A patch of dirt shifted a few yards up from Star. There she is. Maverick ran to her, so damned glad for small blessings. With careful fingers, he brushed the dirt from her head. A web of thick, black hair, now mingled with plenty of dirt, encased her face. He tugged it clear of her eyes, nose and mouth, his poor damned heart hammering against his ribs at her good fortune.
“You’re going to be okay,” he lied because that was what first responders were supposed to do. Offer encouragement no matter how bad the injuries. Make the victim believe they were going to make it. “Hold still. Let me get you out of here.”
He scraped more dirt. Uncovered her button-up blouse. Cut-off jeans. One cowboy boot. One bare foot. Her limbs seemed intact. A bloody scrape marked her forehead over her left eye, but no other injuries were obvious.
A groan lifted from her throat.
“Tell me what hurts, ma’am.” He tried to get her to speak, mentally diagnosing the possible internal injuries she might have sustained. He didn’t want to move her if he didn’t have to. Broken backs or necks were invisible death sentences for trauma victims. Helping her might kill her. He needn’t have worried.
“Star!” She snapped upright so quickly that he damned near knocked heads with her.
“Now hold on.” He grabbed her forearms and leveled her back to the ground. “You need to stay still.”
She planted her elbows behind her and pushed him off. “Who the hell are you?”
“You’re hurt. You can’t just jump up and—”
The prettiest dark blues glared up at him. “The hell I can’t.”
Maverick didn’t argue. No sense in it. He stabbed his Oakleys tight to his nose and sat back on the hill, not sure why he cared if she was hurt or not. She obviously didn’t.
The woman rolled to her side, shook her head to free the dirt in her hair, and didn’t stop moving until she crouched at her horse’s head, smoothing her fingers over his big, long face. “My poor baby.”
Damned if he didn’t nicker some kind of horse-speak back at her. She pressed her forehead to his, her hands cupped around his big ears. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of here.”
Oh yeah? You and what man’s army?
The big guy calmed. Who wouldn’t, the way she cooed all over his face?
Great. Guess I’m the army.
Maverick slid his butt down to the next job of the day, unearthing a very large equine with big, white teeth and doing it quickly. He had other places to be. This wasn’t one of them.
The woman glanced up at him from her love affair with her horse. “What are you doing?”
He pushed a mound of loose dirt over Star’s back and down the hill. The big guy peered at him while the disaster turned into a simple excavation. Hopefully.
“I asked what you think you’re doing?” She swiped more dirt from the corner of her eyes, waiting for an answer.
“Digging.”
“I can see that.”
Then why’d you ask?
She scrambled below Star. It didn’t seem to bother her that she’d lost one boot. “Do you think we can move all this dirt? Just the two us?”
Another obvious question. He let his actions speak for themselves and pushed another load of dirt over Star. The woman scooped it away with both hands clasped together to form a decent-sized human shovel. He pushed. She pulled. It worked. Enough said.
After Star’s back and most of his topside were cleared, she took a breather, pushing that mop of hair over her shoulder. “Howdy, stranger. I’m China Wolf.”
“Maverick Carson.” He offered a half-salute and decided right then and there it had to go. No more salutes. No more yes sir, no sir, either. Didn’t know why the automatic response even surfaced after all these months on the road.
She stuck her hand out. “Nice to meet you, Maverick Carson. You related to Kit?”
He reached across Star to return the handshake. “No, ma’am.”
China Wolf had a firm grip, something most woman didn’t. She stayed sprawled across Star’s belly, catching her breath and fiddling with his mane. Her gaze strayed to the wide-open spaces around them. “Mind if I ask what you’re doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“Walking.” He brushed a hand through his hair, surprised at the amount of dirt on his head and wondering where on this damned hill he had lost his ball cap. A guy could get a helluva sunburn without decent cover.
Besides, the r
eason for this damned long walk lay tucked inside that simple baseball cap. A photo of him and his baby brother in some godforsaken desert a long way from home. Both in cammies. Both with big, shit-eating grins. One half-memory. One half-ghost. Maverick hadn’t figured out which one he was yet. At least he hadn’t lost his Oakleys, his first line of self-defense against the world that had crapped all over him.
China eyed him. “You one of those crazy guys who decides to hitchhike across the country for no damned reason?”
He doffed his leather jacket. “Something like that.”
She resumed her task, too. Star stilled. For a while, Maverick and China were nothing but a sweaty, human backhoes, the morning sun a relentless taskmaster and climbing higher in the sky.
She brushed one hand over her forehead. “Whew. I don’t know if we can do this. It’s a lot of dirt.” She scrambled back to Star’s long face again. “How’s my pretty boy doing?”
Maverick couldn’t stand to watch the mugging and kissing. He looked away. This woman really liked her horse, but damn it to hell. They were miles from anywhere and trapped in a ravine where cell coverage couldn’t reach. He grabbed his jacket and half-slid, half-walked down the hill to the stand of aspen below. All those green trees and shrubbery wouldn’t be thriving without water.
“Hey. Where are you going?” she called after him.
He didn’t answer. No sense leading her on if this harebrained idea proved fruitless. Fortunately, a stream gurgled at the crook of the ravine just as he had hoped.
Maverick zipped his jacket, tied the sleeves together as tightly as he could, and improvised a water jug of sorts. Laying the leather bag into the stream, he let it fill. It leaked like a sieve until he cinched the collar and rolled it tight. Tried again. Damn thing worked. Well, mostly. In minutes, he was uphill again with a leaking leather jug that turned his ragged jeans to muddy streaks. It cooled him, along with the breeze on his sweaty back.
The big horse twitched his nose at the scent of water. Star wasted no time ducking his snout into the improvised bucket. “How much should I let him drink?” Maverick asked.
Maverick Page 1