Maverick (Star Valley Book 3)

by Dahlia West

  MAVERICK

  (STAR VALLEY Book Three)

  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.

  Click HERE to sign up for my mailing list for news about the next book in the Star Valley series, signed paperback giveaways, and more!

  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

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Epilogue

  About Twister (Star Valley Book Four)

  Chapter One

  ‡

  Austin Barlow stepped carefully on the packed earth, gun at his side. He’d eschewed the Winchester rifle strapped to his horse’s saddle, choosing instead to draw out a Smith & Wesson handgun. The grip was black rubber and the nickel-plated barrel gleamed in the sun’s dying light. It felt strange and unfamiliar in his palm, a thoroughly modern weapon that was at odds with his traditional lifestyle out here on the Wyoming range.

  He preferred the Winchester, with its finely tuned sights and its ability to take down predators at long distances, before they ever got to him, his horse, or the cattle he protected. Austin frowned at the tracks that led away from camp and headed up the ridge. He’d rather have his rifle, but he was tracking an altogether different predator than the usual mix of wolves, coyotes, mountain lions, and bears that stalked the open range just south of the Grand Teton mountains.

  This one wore boots a size smaller than Austin’s size elevens and left sole marks with Carhartt imprinted in the dirt. They all wore Tony Lama’s, for work and play, all five Barlow brothers plus Gabe, their ranch foreman. The distinctive curved soles had left their mark on almost every inch of Barlow land, which stretched for miles in every direction. And though the Folly, as he thought of it, was a recent purchase and addition to their spread, the Barlows and Gabe had tread every square inch of it, putting up fence line and clearing away the mining equipment left by the previous workers.

  Summer rains had washed away all the bootprints but theirs over these last few weeks since they’d signed the deed and setup camp to transform the land into a sustainable part of their spread. So where had these tracks come from? And why had Austin been noticing them for more than a week now?

  Gabe Vasquez was the best tracker among them, but he had no occasion to come all the way up here on the ridge where Austin had been tinkering with some solar power panels he’d placed last month. Gabe’s interest was cattle, not gadgets.

  The freshest tracks stopped at the base of the high wall. At the top, out of sight from the ground, were the panels Austin had put up. Rocks and loose dirt covered the trail, as though Mr. Size Tens had tried to climb up to the ridge and failed. Austin snorted derisively. He’d come up here with climbing equipment, harnesses and ropes to install those panels. No one could free climb this wall.

  Though that didn’t mean Mr. Size Tens wouldn’t be back with his own rope.

  Suddenly, though, a sharp scrape on the rough earth behind him told Austin Mr. Size Tens might already be back. He whirled, raising the pistol, and peering down the path into the twilight. To his side, Colter, his horse, didn’t stir, confirming that the movement around the corner of the rock wall was human and not animal. Finger resting lightly on the trigger, Austin held his breath as a long shadow finally loomed around the jagged outcropping of rock.

  His heart thundered in his chest, echoing the low rumble that could be heard miles yet away. Austin much preferred facing down a mountain lion or even a grizzly. He’d never killed a man before, never even raised a gun to one. Though he had no doubts about his ability to pull the trigger—to protect his land and his family—he’d lose sleep over it.

  He saw boots and a hat and the entire image came together immediately, giving Austin instant relief. Such was his surprise that he forgot to lower the weapon that was now aimed at his youngest brother’s chest.

  “Whoa! Hey now! Don’t shoot!” Court backed up quickly, hands raised.

  Austin nearly fumbled the gun, such was his surprise at nearly popping off a round into his sibling. “Jesus!” he gasped at Court. “What are you doing up here? You’re supposed to be down at camp cooking dinner!”

  “It’s ready!” Court replied. “And I radioed you, but you didn’t answer. So I came to make sure you were okay.” He eyed the pistol sharply. “Clearly, you’re not. What the hell, Austin? What’s going on?”

  Sinking the pistol into the holster hidden underneath the flap of his denim jacket, Austin frowned. Court could be a hothead and stirring up trouble before Austin was certain there was even trouble to be had, might not be the brightest idea. Then again, he’d just pointed a loaded weapon at his brother and sure Austin had four more, but Court would still be a loss, even with his current surly attitude.

  “The storm’s interfering with the radio,” he told Court.

  Court’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. That’s kind of what I figured and why I headed up here to let you know.” He waited patiently, which was actually out of character for the young man. His large arms folded across a broad chest that Austin was thankful didn’t have a hole in it.

  Austin turned and nodded to the path that extended to his left, the way he’d come. “There’re tracks,” he said, trying to keep his voice even.

  Court moved forward and peered at them.

  “They’re getting closer,” Austin declared. “There’s just one of them. But they circle around the property line, getting closer to camp, and the old mine.”

  Court’s nose wrinkled as he inspected the markings in the dirt. “Everybody’s interested in what’s going on up here.
Hell, maybe they think we’re growing a different type of grass.” He grinned up at Austin, obviously trying to make him feel better.

  Austin sighed. Nothing was missing or damaged or disturbed. Maybe he was wired a bit too tight. A different type of grass, he thought. He could use some of that. Or some tequila. Or a woman. It’d been over a decade since Austin had smoked anything, though, even a Camel. He’d settle for two out of three.

  A drink.

  And a woman.

  And soon.

  He reached up and tugged at the beard he’d been working on for the last few months. He could get a drink. His money was good. But a woman was out of the question, looking like Grizzly Adams. He should shave it. And drag Court off this mountain, too, and take him to town. They could both use to be around people. He frowned at the tracks, though, because they still worried him.

  “This equipment’s too expensive to leave unprotected,” he said, nodding to the solar panels up high on the ridge. “We might need to borrow Rowan’s dogs. To patrol the place.”

  Court’s features darkened just a bit.

  Austin felt like a heel having to bring up Court’s ex like that, knowing it was a sore subject. But if anyone spent too much time up on this mountain, it was Court. No one said it out loud, but it was obvious to everyone that Court was hiding away from the world rather than having to face it straight on. His ex had married their brother, Seth, and there was nothing Court could do about that.

  The only reason Austin—or Walker, or Sawyer, or anyone else—hadn’t kicked Court’s ass for acting like one was that Court had thrown himself into raising the little girl he shared with Rowan, being a better father than he’d ever been a partner to the girl’s mother.

  Court had cheated on Rowan, but never on little Willow. The brown haired, brown eyed girl was the spitting image of her daddy and Court devoted all his free time to being with her, every minute. Court, it seemed, only had eyes for his daughter. To everyone’s surprise.

  Tugging at his own beard, Austin realized that even if he could manage to drag Court to town and hit The Silver Spur for a drink, Austin himself wouldn’t stand a chance looking like something that crawled out of the mine. “Let’s head back to camp,” he declared, because even if Court agreed to dip his toe into a hot shower—along with the rest of him—it wouldn’t be tonight.

  The rain started to fall before they even made the camp’s perimeter. Austin pulled up his collar and ducked his head low into his jacket. It was chilly at this elevation, even though summer was in full swing. It was dark, too, which made the bobbing of lights approaching them from the north side all that more distinct.

  Through the sheen of water coming down on them, Austin peered into the dark. The lights were low to the ground, too low for a truck. And no one at Snake River, not even Sofia the cook, drove a car.

  “You know who this is?” he called to Court over the thunder.

  “Nope,” said Court with a shake of his head. “Can’t say I do.”

  The car trundled through the mud and pulled to a stop just as Austin reached for the pistol tucked into his waistband. The driver barely had time to round the front of the car, which Austin could now identify as a Toyota, before the man caught sight of the danger he was walking into. He had an umbrella, a prissy little thing, with pinstripes.

  “Who are you?” snarled Austin, holding the .45 at arm’s length.

  The man froze and gazed through the downpour, taking a moment to recognize the silhouette of the gun. “Don’t shoot!” the smaller man howled. “Oh, my God! Don’t shoot!”

  Austin glanced down at the man’s shoes. Wingtips, not boots, and the toe was too pointed. They didn’t match the tracks he’d seen up on the ridge. That didn’t mean much, though. He was still a stranger on Barlow land.

  “I’m from the Wyoming Rancher’s Association!” the man spluttered while reaching into his blazer.

  Austin raised the .45 a bit higher. “You pull out a gun and I’ll pull this trigger.”

  “Wh…what? I don’t have a gun!”

  Austin didn’t think the Wingtipped Weenie could handle a weapon other than the one in his shorts but he didn’t lower the pistol. “Then we got no problem.”

  The man hesitated, uncertain. He glanced toward Court.

  “Don’t look at me,” Court said with a pronounced shrug. “He’s gone Mountain Mad, I think.”

  Beyond the man’s little Toyota, headlights appeared from the direction of the highway. Austin squinted against the darkness and made out the outline of a large Ford truck as the headlights swung away, following the curve of the service road. Austin recognized the truck as well as the hulking figure in it.

  Walker was frantically laying on the horn, which sounded like a barge or a tinny foghorn.

  “Austin!” the man bellowed as he swung down from the cab. His boots splashed in the water as he stormed over to them. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Is he going to kill me?” the man shrieked at Walker.

  Walker frowned as he stepped into the headlights that illuminated the others. “I hope not,” he growled.

  “I thought you were right behind me!” the man snapped.

  Walker grimaced. “I had to stop to fix a fence line, wind knocked it down. Austin, put down the goddamn gun!”

  “You didn’t radio,” Austin shot back, not literally, though he might be close to irritated enough. Then again, the storm had knocked out his own communications. It was probably the same all over the valley.

  “I tried! Jesus Christ, will you stop acting crazy!”

  “Who is this? Who are you?” Austin asked, turning back to the man.

  “I came to give you this,” the Weenie howled. He reached into his pocket and drew out a white envelope.

  Austin blew out a harsh breath and lowered his weapon.

  The man held it out but didn’t wait for Austin to get a good hold. He dropped it immediately and it went straight into the mud. He turned tail and sped off back to the safety of his car. Austin cursed and swiped the thing off the ground.

  There was a squeal of tires and mud kicked up, all over Walker’s truck. Walker glared at Austin in the bright, white lights. The little Toyota fishtailed then rocketed back toward the highway.

  “Like the Devil’s chasing him,” said Court, shaking his head.

  “What the hell are you doing pulling a gun on people?” Walker cried. “And where did you even get this? Why are you carrying it?”

  Austin bristled at the idea that he had to justify himself to anyone, especially his older brother. “I bought it in town.”

  “For what? Terrorizing middle aged men in bad suits sent by the Rancher’s Association?” Walker shook his head. “I swear to God, Austin. Being up here so much has rotted your brain. It’s made you crazy. Paranoid and I don’t know what else.” He cast Austin a dark look. “God knows what’s growing in that beard of yours.”

  Austin’s lips twitched and suddenly he didn’t want to bring up the tracks up on the ridge. Court had seen them, but they could be anyone’s, and Austin had just held an innocent man at gunpoint. Probably not the best time to plead his case to Walker.

  “What is that, anyway?” Walker asked, nodding to the envelope in his hand.

  Austin peered at it again, then flipped it over as though the words Just Kidding! might have been scrawled on the back of it. “They want to give me an award.”

  Walker snorted. “Must not be very big if it can fit into that envelope. Unless it’s a check.”

  Austin plucked a pristine piece of paper out from under the flap, pinching the corner, careful not to get it dirty with his fingers. “It is a check.” He passed it to Walker, with his cleaner hands, and pulled out another piece of paper. “There’s a ceremony, too,” he added, reading the flowy text printed on the card. “A big dinner. In Jackson Hole. They want me to give a speech.”

  Walker threw back his head and laughed—hard. The bellow resembled a large bear, if a bear had a sense of humor. �
�You’re going to give a speech? You barely even bathe at this point. In fact, I’m surprised you still recall human speech at all.”

  Austin glared at him, but felt heartened as he looked at the invitation again. All his hard work was not only paying off, in spades, but people were recognizing him, supporting him in his endeavor to drag ranching into the modern era.

  “You’re not taking that gun with you,” Walker added firmly.

  “I’m not going,” said Austin, stuffing the card back into the envelope and sliding it into his jacket pocket.

  Walker’s eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean, you’re not going? Of course you’re going!”

  Austin shook his head, mind already back on the unfamiliar tracks and still no idea what to do about them.

  Walker grabbed his arm. “You’re going,” he insisted. “You need to get off this mountain.”

  Instead of arguing, Austin couldn’t help but cast his gaze toward the ridge where he’d found the tracks, tracks which surely would be washed away by now. Court had seen them, but that didn’t mean much. His youngest brother had always sucked at tracking.

  “This is nonnegotiable. We’re both going.”

  Austin recognized the tone in his twin’s voice, even if it was too dark at this point to see his face. To argue meant he might end up in the mud. He could give Walker a run for his money—and had in the past—but it seemed like a silly thing to come to blows over. And if Walker was coming with him, there was no driving through the Hole and heading up to Yellowstone to camp instead, which sounded like a better time (if he could find a woman to share his tent).

  “Fine,” said Austin, planning to tell Gabe about the tracks before they left Star Valley. At least the Folly would be safe in the foreman’s hands while they were gone.

  There were girls in Jackson Hole. Not rugged, outdoor types who might enjoy a little skinny dip in the lake, but posh girls who drove their daddy’s Mercedes looking to piss off their parents might do. Over the last several weeks Austin had gotten a few earfuls of that kind of wildcatting—Sawyer and Cassidy could barely keep their hands off each other. Austin would settle for a fresa, as Gabe would call her.