Sharp Shootin' Cowboy

by Victoria Vane

  “We are gathered this evening in support of the proposed Protect America’s Wildlife Act, sponsored by our own Senator Feinstein. If passed, this legislation would effectively close the loopholes in the existing Airborne Hunting Act. It will protect America’s wolves from all such barbaric practices. Unless we act quickly and decisively, we will soon face a second eradication of wolves.”

  Haley’s gaze skirted once more over the tables. Many of the donors were already reaching for their checkbooks. “While this is certain to be a long and costly battle, with your generous and ongoing support, we will ultimately prevail. Thank you.”

  * * *

  “You were fabulous tonight,” Jeffrey gushed, handing Haley a glass of champagne. “I knew even when you were a student that you’d become a great asset. No one can charm the purses and checkbooks like Dr. Haley Cooper.”

  “Thank you,” she said, adding with a sigh, “But I’m glad it’s done. How much do you think we raised?”

  He smiled over his drink. “By my estimate, at least five hundred grand.”

  Haley beamed. “That’s twice what we’d hoped for. It’s more than enough to fund all the radio collars for my mating pairs study.”

  Jeffrey’s smile faded. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but that project’s going to have to go on the back burner.”

  “Again?” He heart dropped with disappointment. “Why?”

  “Because we need all the money for our attorneys and the media campaign.”

  “But we just raised half a mil,” she protested. “Can’t I at least have a small percentage of that to buy the collars?”

  “Sorry.” He shook his head. “Half a mil might sound like a lot, but it’s only a drop in the bucket. We spent twice that in Idaho, Montana, Washington, Oregon, and Utah and still lost. We’ll need to tap into all of our resources if we’re going to prevent delisting in Wyoming.”

  “I see. But it seems to me that our chances are slim no matter how much we spend. The wolf population has more than recovered. You know it’s only a matter of time before they allow hunting. Why not simply concentrate our efforts on protecting the packs in Yellowstone and Grand Teton? It’s where most of our study subjects are anyway.”

  Jeffrey’s lipped thinned. “That would be to admit defeat.”

  “But we’re swimming against a riptide here, Jeffrey.”

  “The decisions can be reversed,” he insisted. “We can’t give up until we get new legislation passed.”

  “I don’t agree, Jeffrey. I think we’re just wasting money that could be put to a much better purpose.” Although he’d been her mentor for the past six years, they didn’t always see eye to eye. He was far too involved in politics for her liking, using his research to support lobbies and lawsuits, while she cared more about the animals themselves. “And while we’re on the subject, I should tell you that I’m thinking very hard about accepting a job in Wyoming.”

  “What?” His gaze narrowed. “This is the first you’ve said about it. Why haven’t you mentioned it before?”

  “When have I had a chance? We’ve hardly seen each other in months.” She often wished they had more time together, but field research and various projects often kept them apart.

  “I promise to make it up to you,” he said. “We’ll go away together once my current project is done.”

  “You’ve said that before, but it never happens. Something always seems to come up.” She paused. “Jeffrey, what’s going on with us?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “It just feels like we’re drifting apart.”

  She’d told herself for years that romance held little importance in the great scheme of things. They had the kind of relationship she’d always thought she wanted, one founded on friendship, mutual respect, and common goals, but lately it seemed much more like a business partnership than a romantic relationship. She wondered about his recent lack of interest in sex. Was he involved with someone else? Was that why they’d spent so little time together lately?

  He shrugged. “We’re both busy. Sometimes the greater good requires personal sacrifices, but I promise to take some time off once I’m finished with the Denali project.”

  “How is it coming?” she asked.

  “Better now that I have a new assistant.”

  “You hired someone?” She struggled to digest that news. “You didn’t even tell me you were considering a new assistant.” She wondered who it was. It was strange he hadn’t mentioned it before.

  “It’s no biggie, Haley.” Jeffrey shrugged it off without elaboration.

  “Are you coming over tonight?” she asked.

  “I figured you’d be too tired,” he answered. “I know I am. This kind of schmoozy thing always wipes me out.” Odd. That wasn’t like Jeffrey at all. He loved attention in any form.

  “Oh. Okay. I understand.” She struggled to mask her disappointment. She’d hoped to celebrate their success together. After nearly three months of celibacy, she was wound tight with sexual tension.

  “So, what’s this job you’re considering?” he asked, oblivious to her thoughts.

  “U.S. Fish and Wildlife is forming a task force to review and monitor wolf management in the northern Rockies. I got a call from a recruiter about it a few weeks ago.”

  “And you’re actually considering it?” Jeffrey regarded her with incredulity. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to leave your position with this organization and abandon a possible tenure track at the university?”

  “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

  She held her breath, waiting but knowing he’d never express the words she needed to hear. Jeffrey supported and encouraged her work and appreciated her intellect and dedication, but it wasn’t enough anymore.

  “What about us?” he finally asked.

  Her gaze sought his. “Is there really any us?” Although they had a tacit understanding about exclusivity, he’d made no move toward any kind of permanent commitment. And though she’d hinted several times about moving in together, he’d always hedged about that too.

  His brows met in a scowl. “You know how I feel about marriage.”

  “But I want a family, Jeffrey.”

  “The world is already overpopulated,” he argued.

  “And many countries have taken measures to control it. One child, Jeffrey. That’s all I want.” In almost five years together she and Jeffrey had never had unprotected sex. Not once. He was obsessive about it. For the longest time she’d secretly hoped he’d come around about the idea of kids, but he still hadn’t. She, on the other hand, had begun thinking about it. A lot.

  “If you feel that strongly, why don’t you just adopt a kid?”

  “On my own?”

  “Why not?” His nonchalance made her heart drop.

  “Because I’d want my child to have a normal family—a mother and a father. We aren’t going anywhere, Jeffrey. We want different things now.” She wanted a family, but once more he balked at the very idea. It was past time to reevaluate her future.

  “So you’re really going to leave?”

  “Yes.” She exhaled slowly, almost in relief. Perhaps a new job in a new place really was the answer, and eventually a new relationship might follow. She’d held on too long. He didn’t love her any more than she loved him. It was time to move on.

  “I didn’t think at first that I’d take the job,” she said, “but I can’t just sit by and watch from a distance while all we’ve worked for comes undone. And I’m tired of all the politics, Jeffrey. I want to do something for the greater good. You can wage your war in the courtrooms, but I’m taking mine back to the field.”

  Chapter 14

  Whiskey Mountain, Wyoming backcountry

  “Goddammit, slow down! I need to catch my wind. The air’s so thin up here I can hardly breathe.”

  Re
id ground his teeth. It would probably help if you dropped about eighty pounds.

  In their brochure, Everett’s Extreme Expeditions cautioned potential clients about the need for physical conditioning prior to a backcountry trek, but some folks seemed to think money took care of everything. This one was worse than most.

  Frank Barstow had expected not just a private guide, but a personal pack mule. Reid. He’d been carrying almost all the gear since they’d left their lakeside base camp. Apparently, Barstow didn’t know the unspoken law among all outdoorsmen—you pack your own shit or you leave it behind.

  They’d ridden the horses as far as they could, but that was about five miles back. The rest of the way was wild and rugged terrain, only accessible by foot. It was also all uphill, which made it the perfect habitat for the country’s largest wild herd of bighorn sheep.

  “I dropped almost ten grand on this hunting trip,” Barstow continued to grouse. “We’ve been hiking this goddamned wilderness for the better part of a week, and I haven’t seen a single elk to show for all that.”

  “You’ll get your elk just like you got your bighorn sheep,” Reid promised. “Or I’ll refund half your money.”

  Jared would shit a brick if he heard that promise, but Reid was damned tired of rich assholes who treated hunting guides like lesser beings. He’d been home three months, but he was wrong to think he’d be able to slip right back into his old life. They all expected it though. He was resentful about playing babysitter to begin with, but it was only getting harder to keep his mouth shut and temper in check—especially with Barstow.

  He was a big man with a ginger-colored beard who reminded Reid all too much of a certain Austin Powers’ henchman with the same initials. He’d told Reid to call him FB, but Reid secretly thought of him as “Fat Bastard” ever since.

  Reid dropped his pack and pulled out two water bottles, offering one to FB who waved it aside with a grunt, only to pull out a flask of Scotch instead. The guy drank like a fish. Reid hoped the man wouldn’t have a coronary before the trip was over. He didn’t know how the hell he’d get FB back down the mountain if he did.

  “We’ve got about another half mile and then we’ll make camp up on that ridge.” Reid pointed up ahead. “There’s a gorge down below where the elk come for water. We might catch some of them at dusk, but the best time is gonna be right before sunup.”

  That was the second problem. Fat Bastard liked to eat and sleep. While Reid was used to hitting the trail with a thermos of instant coffee and a wad of beef jerky in his pack, FB refused to budge before breakfast. Eggs—sunny-side up with no brown around the edges. That’s right. He was camp cook now too. Went along with the private guide gig.

  Two more days, he reminded himself, and then he’d take a few off. Maybe get away for some badly needed R & R. Tonya was slowly wearing him down to go away with her to Chico Hot Springs. He’d avoided giving her any answer for as long as he could. He was still trying to get his head straight.

  He didn’t love her. Didn’t know if he ever could, but she was an old friend of the family, a decent companion, and keen to get back together. They had a lot in common, and he was damned tired of being alone. He was on the wrong side of thirty now and wanting to settle down. Hell, the way things were going, he’d probably be digging out her old engagement ring before year’s end. That was a dangerous thought.

  “You rested?” he prodded FB. “We don’t have much daylight. Maybe another hour or two, and we still need to set up camp. If we move it along, we can try and spot some of those elk.”

  It took nearly an act of God to get FB moving before sunup, but by the time its rays were melting the shadows, they were in position overlooking the river below. Reid peered through his glasses into the tree line. Just as he’d hoped, several elk were emerging to drink.

  “You’re in luck, Barstow.” He handed him the field glasses. “There’s a six-point bull down there with your name on it.”

  “Where? I don’t see it.”

  “There. About ten yards into the tree line. You’d best get that twenty-pound cannon of yours ready.” Reid hoped to hell the guy knew how to fire the thing. “You sure you don’t want to shoot mine?” He offered his .300 Winchester.

  “I know what I’m doing,” FB growled. “I bought this baby specifically for big game.”

  “Maybe so, but if you’re not careful, the recoil from that fifty cal will take your head off.”

  At any closer range, the rifle would also destroy any chance of claiming the elk as a trophy, but they were at least four hundred yards out. FB fancied himself an expert marksman. He’d literally bought lock, stock, and barrel into the new cult of distance shooting. It was also why he’d forked over ten grand to hire a guide who was a former marine scout sniper. Reid’s reputation was a mixed blessing.

  FB handed Reid his field glasses, raised his rifle, and peered through the scope just as the bull emerged into the clearing followed by a small herd of cows.

  “Don’t take the shot until he’s completely in the clear, nothing within 15 meters on either side of him,” Reid instructed the hunter and then called off some adjustments. The elk raised its head and bugled, a sound that not only attracted elk cows, but gave every big game hunter an instant hard-on. “Got him sighted?” Reid asked.

  FB grunted. The bull stood stock-still, in a broadside stance—a perfect kill shot.

  “All right now. Take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and then fire,” Reid advised.

  “Holy shit! Look at that!” In the instant FB would have pulled the trigger, the bull spun around to face one of the biggest wolves Reid had ever seen. A second and third wolf emerged and slowly circled, flanking the bull who now had the river at its back and almost nowhere to run.

  “Don’t shoot,” Reid said. “You’ve lost your chance.”

  “Fuck that! If I can’t have my elk, I’ll take the wolf.”

  “The hell you will,” Reid growled. “Wolves are endangered in Wyoming.”

  “Then I’ll pay the fucking fine. I’m taking down that wolf.”

  Should he disarm him? His job was not only to keep the client safe, but also to ensure no laws were broken during the hunt. But Reid hesitated too long. The rifle exploded and kicked back straight back into FB’s face. He screamed and threw the gun down, blood streaming down his face.

  Ignoring the hunter, Reid snatched up the field glasses, hoping the stupid son of a bitch had missed. The herd had bolted, but the first wolf was down, bleeding heavily and struggling to recover its feet. It was then Reid noticed the animal’s radio collar. Shit.

  The other two wolves were circling, teeth bared. Double shit.

  They wouldn’t miss a meal after all. They were ruthless killers that way, even to their own kind. In seconds they’d rip their injured pack mate to shreds. With no other choice but a mercy kill, Reid quickly chambered a round and took his shot.

  * * *

  Haley had been scanning the GPS reports all morning, correlating every collared wolf with its last tracked position on her digital map. She did this daily, notifying wildlife services whenever a wolf encroached on areas occupied by grazing livestock. It was a tedious task but necessary to protect both wolves and cattle. She also hoped her efforts would help to build a better rapport with the ranching community, not that she’d expected much progress on that front.

  She paused with a frown when she came to number 442, the main breeding female she’d studied for her doctoral dissertation. She shoved the report aside to pull out the one from the day before that showed 442 deep in the Whiskey Mountains. Impossible! Although a wolf on the hunt could easily cover fifty miles in a day, there was no way in hell she’d traveled into the city of Jackson.

  Haley’s throat tightened. The positioning signal could mean only one thing—Cinderella was dead.

  * * *

  With only seventy-two hours to report the
wolf incident, Reid drove into Jackson. He’d already filed the compulsory report to the Board of Outfitters in Cheyenne. Although an investigation would still follow, the board had assured Reid that the hunter would be charged, but there wouldn’t be any upshot for Reid’s mercy kill. He knew the board had gone easy on him due to his family’s upstanding reputation, but he still had to turn in the collar to Wyoming Game and Fish.

  “Ah, Reid! I’d heard you were back.” Jim Banks, the regional chief of WGF, extended his hand with a smile. “I’m glad to see you home safe.”

  “You might not be so happy to see me once you know why I’m here,” Reid replied.

  “And why’s that?”

  Reid held up the radio collar. “An overzealous trophy hunter. I’ve already made my report to the Board of Outfitters.”

  “I see.” Jim accepted the collar with a grimace. “Unfortunately, I’m not handling wolves anymore. We have a new federal liaison who’s overseeing wolf management. C’mon. Let me introduce you to her.”

  Reid didn’t relish meeting the new liaison with news of a dead wolf, but he figured the circumstances were best explained in person. There was no honest way around it. Jim continued with a few more trite remarks as he led Reid down a short hallway of offices.

  They stopped at the last door where a tiny blonde sat behind a desk frowning over a stack of papers. Jim knocked. She looked up. Her gaze flickered from Jim to Reid and then stuck. Her eyes widened and her smile froze.

  Holy shit. It couldn’t be.

  Reid’s chest seized as his gaze honed in on a face he’d never forgotten. And one he’d never expected to see again. She was five years older now, wore her hair differently, and hid her pretty green eyes behind ugly glasses, but he’d recognize her anywhere.

  “Reid.” Jim’s voice jarred him out of his shock. “I’d like to introduce Dr. Haley Cooper. Dr. Cooper, this is Reid Everett. His family runs one of the oldest backcountry hunting outfits in the region.”