by Dahlia West
WRANGLER
(STAR VALLEY Book Two)
Written by DAHLIA WEST
Copyright © 2016 Dahlia West
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Cover art by Rebel Edit and Designs
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Also by Dahlia West
The Burnout Series
Shooter
Tex
Slick
Hawk
Easy
Vegas
Doc
The Stark Ink Series
Harder
Better
Faster
Stronger
Rapid City Stories
Preacher
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also by Dahlia West
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Epilogue
About Maverick (Star Valley Book Three)
Chapter One
‡
SAWYER BARLOW LOOSENED the reins and gave Cash his head as they headed down into the Gulch. He often wondered if the roping horse missed the teeming, cheering rodeo crowds. Snake River was quieter, a bit harder, too, and certainly more dangerous, but Cash’s temperament hadn’t changed, which led Sawyer to think the horse didn’t mind the drastic change.
Sawyer himself loved it. Babysitting Court—his youngest brother—had not been high on Sawyer’s list of things to do with his life, but he could admit that the money and the trophies he’d collected along the way were nice. The money was mostly gone, but he still had Cash. He patted the horse’s neck. He hoped this year’s herd could turn enough of a profit that he wouldn’t have to sell him. Sawyer had paid fifteen thousand dollars for the buckskin gelding, back when they’d had money, before three brutal winters had decimated their herd…and their bank accounts…and their staff.
Once upon a time, Snake River had half a dozen ranch hands, plus the five Barlow brothers. Besides Sawyer, Gabe Vasquez was all that was left, and not because they could afford to pay him well. The Vasquezes had lived on this land as long as the Barlows, swindled out of their heritage by old Goodman Barlow in the ’20s in a bad land deal, the injustice corrected by Rafe Barlow, Sawyer’s father, in his will.
Sawyer wasn’t sure why Gabe, Gabe’s mother, and Gabe’s sister hadn’t left to settle on the patch of land left to them, but he had an inkling that the sight up ahead had something to do with it. Sawyer’s older brother Seth had sunk a stone cross into the earth very near the spot where Rafe Barlow and Manny Vasquez had died last winter. One had ridden out into a snowstorm, in despair, to end his own life so that the rest of them might go on. The other had followed, in a last, desperate act to try and save his best friend.
Neither had returned.
Sawyer avoided looking at Gabe as they passed the marker. Despite Sawyer’s love of books and poetry, there seemed to be no good way to apologize to Gabe (or Sofia or Dakota) for his own father’s impulsive final act. They crossed the gulch in silence and continued on to the pass into the mountains.
It was afternoon now, and the day had heated up nicely. The grasslands they were leaving behind were thick and flowing in the breeze. Up ahead, a line of trees was the last bulwark before the foothills of the Tetons began to rise up from the plains. Their steel gray foundations were capped by crisp, white summits backed by a cloudless blue sky. Sawyer had been all over the country, but no place was finer, no view was better, than the one he had right now.
Two switchback turns and twenty minutes later, they rounded a corner to find the permanent camp that they’d built a few weeks ago. Austin looked up as he saw them, shielding his eyes from the ever-present sun.
As they moved closer, Sawyer grinned at his older brother. “Don’t even need to follow a map these days,” he declared while patting Cash’s neck. “He knows the way to Austin’s Folly by now.”
Austin glared at him. “Will you stop calling it that?”
Sawyer shrugged. “You bought a silver mine,” he countered. “What do you suggest we call it?”
“You know I’m not mining it!” Austin cried indignantly.
“Yet here you are, vaquero,” called Gabe, getting in on the gag. “On your knees, digging in the dirt.” Having been born and raised here, Gabe had no accent, even when using the Spanish his parents had taught him.
Most of the Barlows had lost their mother tongue generations ago. They all understood it, but their accents were atrocious. They’d held on to everything else, though—the food, the hand-braided reatas for ropes, the vaqueros’ songs they sang at night when the fire roared and the whiskey flowed.
“You say you’re not a miner,” said Gabe. “But…” He made a sweeping gesture to the parcel of land they’d bought last month. Austin had been up here every day since, working from dawn to dusk, toiling away at God knew what. He’d left the mining company’s access roads to the highway intact but had filled everything else in with a rented backhoe.
It hadn’t been a large operation, but it was more than enough work for a handful of men, especially since only Austin had any real idea what they were doing up here.
Austin had also left the company’s filtration system intact and spent most days tinkering with the pipes underground.
“We’re supposed to grow hay here,” Sawyer declared. “Not dig shit up. That’s the opposite of growing.” He leaned toward Gabe. “I should get him a Dick and Jane book.” To Austin, he called out, “Down is the opposite of up.”
Austin extended his middle finger, not enjoying the joke. “You just don’t get it. You two have no vision.”
Gabe snorted. “No? Well, maybe not. I’m not a miner, so…”
Sawyer laughed and hopped off Cash, his boots hitting the soft earth with a thud. He made his way to the camp shower where Court was and picked the extra water bag up off the ground.
Behind him, Gabe grunted and Austin rolled his eyes and shook his head.
Sawyer shushed them both and hung the bag off the rack, next to the heated one. Working quickly, he closed the valve and yanked the hose off the half-empty bag, jamming it into the nozzle of the full on
e.
“What the hell?” Court grumbled as the water cut off. “Damn it,” he growled quietly.
Sawyer bit his lip, hard, to keep from laughing as he reached up and twisted the valve back open.
It only took a second for gravity to send a whoosh of ice-cold mountain water right onto Court’s head. Inside the black tarp, Court bellowed and shot out through the flap, nearly tearing the whole contraption down.
“Bear!” Sawyer shouted.
“What? Where’s my gun?!” Court cried and scrambled for his towel. “Fucking bear!” When he realized no one else was moving, he finally looked around, his gaze locking onto Sawyer, and glared at him. “Where’s my rifle?” he demanded. “So I can shoot you.”
Standing naked on the side of a mountain, Court was one hell of a sight. If Sawyer had still been on his horse, he might’ve fallen off from laughing so hard. Gabe, thankfully, had already dismounted and was currently shaking so hard that he let go of his horse’s reins.
All the Barlow ranch stock was trained by his sister, Dakota, so it mattered little that the horse now had free rein. Blaze simply picked at the grass while ignoring the humans around him.
“You’re looking a little like a wild mountain man,” Sawyer declared.
It was clear that Court had not shaved in weeks. All their lives he’d been a GQ cowboy, perfect hair, perfect smile, clean shaven and cologne doused. Court Barlow had caught more buckle bunnies than real ones in his life.
“Good,” Court snapped. “When I kill you, I can plead insanity.” He stalked off to the tents, presumably to get dressed.
“You look the part!” Sawyer called after him and hoped at least his clothes would be clean.
Court continued on as though he hadn’t heard.
Normally a comment like that would send Court straight to the nearest reflective surface, but this new version of the youngest Barlow didn’t so much as frown or finger his scruff.
Sawyer hoped it was because Court’s priorities were changing along with his appearance and not so much because Court spent all his time brooding out here at the ass-end of nowhere.
“Well, hurry up!” Sawyer called. “Otherwise you’ll be late for a very important date.”
Court emerged from the tent in record time, smiling somewhere in all that facial hair.
Sawyer was glad to see it.
Court might have lost his father and a shot at rekindling an old flame, but the man did have one bright spot in his life, and it burned hotter than the sun above their heads. Court would never miss a date with the newest leading lady in his life.
As they made their way back down the foothills, neither Court nor Sawyer had anything to say to each other, but Sawyer didn’t mind. They’d spent the last five years together, sleeping in tight quarters, traveling together as a roping team. At this point Sawyer was pretty well attuned to his younger brother’s moods, and he didn’t detect any issues with heading back to Snake River. It would be an easy ride. BlackJack and Cash got along well, too, just as Sawyer and Court did—mostly.
It’d been grating, though, to try to keep Court on the straight and narrow while they were in the rodeo.
Sawyer hated that their father’s death had been the reason for their return but was glad they were back home. Over the years, Court had slipped further and further from Sawyer’s reata, and Sawyer had no doubt that before too long he might’ve lost his line to his brother entirely.
Too much booze and too many women had made Court almost unbearable to be around for anyone but Sawyer. Even Sawyer’s good-humored nature had been tested a few too many times over the years.
From Court blowing a whole day’s prize money on cheap whiskey and cheaper women, to late wake-ups and a missed event because he’d been getting head in the head, Sawyer was grateful to have a few other people to help carry the load for once.
As they crossed the Snake River, Sawyer glanced up at the ring of dead trees from last year’s fires. There had been none yet this spring. However, the threat of drought forever loomed.
Austin predicted a halfway decent summer, and he was seldom wrong about these things. It was too far out to make predictions about winter, though. The last three had laid them low. One more bad one would finish them off. They’d already lost half their cattle to starvation and freezing temperatures and had little money to buy more. What they needed now was slow, steady growth of the herd they had left.
As Sawyer turned in his saddle and looked back at Austin’s Folly, he hoped his older brother hadn’t blown Dad’s insurance money to dig for buried treasure. He trusted Austin, more so than Walker, which was a strange set of circumstances since Austin and Walker were twins. They didn’t look much alike, other than the trademark Barlow dark hair and eyes, but more often than not Austin and Walker were on the same page about any given issue.
However, Walker had been reluctant to part with the money.
Sawyer chalked it up to the stress of basically running the place by himself these days.
While Sawyer, Court, Austin, Seth, and Gabe were out with the herd or doing chores, Walker was behind closed doors, crunching numbers and trying to find new ways to hold onto the spread. Sawyer hoped like hell he succeeded.
In the rodeo, Sawyer had been everywhere, just like the song. He’d been to Denver, Texas, out East, and even down Old Mexico way to see the land of his ancestors before they’d pushed north for a spread of their own.
Sawyer had been everywhere, but Snake River was the only place he wanted to be.
It only reaffirmed that fact when they crested the final hill and got a view of the homestead below. The Big House, the Foreman’s Shack, the bunkhouse, and the two livestock barns sprawled across acres that had been in their family since the beginning.
As they got closer, Sawyer spotted Seth’s truck parked at the house, a less familiar sight these days since he’d moved in with the Archers down the road. Sawyer snuck a quick glance at Court to take the direction of the wind, as Austin was sometimes wont to do.
Court didn’t seem anything but happy but still reined in BlackJack, who was itching to get back to the barn. Court didn’t let him run, though, to keep him from getting barn sour. It seemed like maybe horse and rider were growing up.
When they reached the driveway, Court swung down from his saddle just in time to catch a tiny, little brown-haired girl who was throwing herself at him. “Daddy!” she cried.
Court laughed and spun her in his arms. “Hey, there!” he said. “How’s my little Calamity Jane?”
They traded shots from finger pistols with the requisite, “Bang bang!” sound effects.
Sawyer smiled at the girl’s mother, Rowan, who stood a few feet away, tucked securely under Seth’s arm. Her diamond engagement ring sparkled in the sunlight. A complicated group, to be sure, but Sawyer admired Rowan’s determination to see past all the heartache Court had caused her and let the man have a relationship with the four year old.
As Sawyer slid out of his own saddle, Willow reached for him. “Uncle Sawyer! Can I ride? Can I ride?”
Sawyer lifted her up into his just-vacated saddle, instructing her, as always, to hang on. Cash was older and more seasoned than BlackJack and therefore one of the few Barlow horses the little girl was allowed to “ride,” which consisted of walking either in a circle or just to and from the stall.
Willow squealed excitedly and waved to her dad, mom, and soon-to-be stepdad slash uncle (complicated) as Sawyer led Cash into the barn.
He plucked her down from the saddle once they were inside the stall. “All right, now,” Sawyer told her in a heavily accented western drawl. “Best wash up fer yer dinner!”
The little girl scampered toward her mother and Seth, and they headed back outside while Sawyer and Court untacked the horses. Sawyer set Cash loose in the pasture and saw everyone gathered at the round pen as Dakota rode one of her newly broken wildlings, a mustang mare that Court had snagged for her weeks ago.
Sawyer headed over to join them, sid
ling up next to Walker, who’d emerged from his office/cave to watch. “It’s a good thing Gabe’s not here to see you looking at his sister that way,” Sawyer whispered.
Walker shrugged, never taking his eyes off Dakota.
“So, are you going to—”
“No,” Walker said in a gravelly tone.
“But Austin—”
“No,” Walker repeated, jaw getting tighter.
Sawyer knew better than to push Walker—on anything—but Dakota and Austin’s seemingly budding romance was apparently on hold with Austin spending so much time up at the Folly. Now was Walker’s chance to finally make his move and snare the young horse trainer for good. And while Walker did seem much more at ease without Austin around, he still seemed to just…hover…at the edges.
“You—” Sawyer protested.
Walker finally tore his gaze away and gave Sawyer a look so cold that Sawyer thought winter might never have really gone away. “I’m busy,” he told Sawyer. “I don’t have time for that.” He turned and headed back to the Big House, back to the lair, where apparently the only future that mattered to him was that of the Snake River Ranch.
Sawyer turned and followed but not too closely. He broke off, though, to head to the bunkhouse, where he lived now with Court and Gabe—or mostly just Gabe these days, he supposed, since Court was spending all his time with Austin up at the Folly.
Walker and Austin and Seth (before he’d moved away entirely) had all opted to stay in the Big House, sleeping in their own childhood rooms. Sawyer guessed he understood the appeal of the familiar, but too many years away from home had made it awkward to try and step right back into his old life. And why bother, since it certainly didn’t resemble the life he’d left behind to join the rodeo years ago.
At any rate, he wouldn’t hold it against the others for staying in the house, but in Sawyer’s opinion, twenty-seven was too old to be sleeping in a room with baseball pennants tacked to the walls.
The bunkhouse, while not miles away from the Big House, seemed enough of a move that it reflected where Sawyer was in his life now—home but a fully-fledged adult.
Complete with Cheetos.
He was willing to admit that he, Gabe, and until recently Court, had been more than enjoying their time as swinging bachelors. Court because that’s what he’d always done (until Rowan had come back, Willow in tow); Gabe because he was determined not to fall for the wrong woman again (or the right one); and Sawyer because it was fun, and they all needed more fun in their lives (especially these days).