She looked too young to be riding the brute beneath her, but up she went through the new grass rippling in waves across the steep mountainside. At least Maverick called it a mountain. Who knew? These people in Wyoming called everything a hill. Maybe that’s all it was.
He’d heard her before he saw her, which only made him more curious. She called the heavyweight beneath her Star as she’d charged by, praising him as he dutifully grunted uphill and made it look easy. Already lathered with sweat, Star sounded more like a pig than a horse. That’s why Maverick had 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. His old guitar rested against the bag, ready to go. He’d just rolled his sleeping bag and stood to stretch the stiffness away before he got back to the work at hand. Walking.
The peaceful sight of a delicate woman on horseback, her denim-covered legs hugging the animal’s massive body, soothed Maverick. It called to his soul of all things wild and free. Of no holds barred. Of hope. Of all the reasons he’d 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 certainly tried to talk him out of leaving.
“You’ll always have a job here, son,” Alex Stewart said at their final handshake.
Maverick respected Alex like few others, but the need to leave the past behind was a siren’s call he could not ignore. Sick and tired, his heart ached as much as his life sucked. He’d returned the hard man’s grip, sublet his apartment and didn’t look back.
Two good pairs of work boots got him a long ways from the Potomac River of Northern Virginia. Would’ve helped if he’d known where he meant to end up when he started walking, but truth was—he didn’t. Didn’t think. Didn’t much care. Just walked.
He learned the hard way. Most big rig truckers could be trusted. Not all. Kansas sucked in the dead of winter. The interstates meant Highway Patrol. The back roads meant common folks who looked out for each other. Not always, but most of the time.
Nebraska resembled hometown Ohio in a lot of ways. The standing fields of corn, for one. The football mania didn’t hurt. Huskers Red blossomed everywhere. Like a plague. Almost as bad as their nemesis and their better, the Ohio State Buckeyes, God bless ’em.
Maverick didn’t know much about horses, but it seemed this reddish-brown fellow racing uphill wasn’t the usual breed for running. The big guy would’ve been better suited for a plow or wagon, harnessed up, maybe pulling beer. He made a magnificent but massive sight, perhaps because the rider 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 blended with his ebony mane in the wind. Damned magical is what it was.
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 they were flying.
The world had need of sights like this. It almost filled an angry man’s empty, battered cup to the brim. Almost.
He turned away. Truth was it didn’t even come close to filling the hole in his soul. The horse had no horn sticking out of that big forehead. The girl had no wings on her back. Magic lay dead and buried on a grassy hillside in Arlington National Cemetery.
Time to pack up and move on. Maverick’s path lay elsewhere, somewhere along the highway below, not in the morning light on the hill in the middle of nowhere.
Until the beast screamed.
Maverick jolted around just in time to catch sight of the horse reared up on his hind legs, front hooves flailing and the hill collapsing beneath him. Another blood-curdling scream rent the morning peace, and over the edge he slid, slashing the air frantically and 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’d thought was solid rock had dropped into the ravine below. Billowing dust obscured the sight below, but not the screams of what had to be a broken, dying animal.
Fear clutched Maverick’s gut. Not again.
As terrifying as it sounded, Star’s squeal amongst the sounds of clattering stones and sliding dirt meant hope. The horse might not make it, but that girl could be alive.
Maverick doubted it. Life was an unfair gift, ripped from a man without warning, meaning or care. 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’d 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 the toss of dark mane through the dust-laden air. A screaming, snorting demon had replaced the grunting pig. No sign of the girl though.
Shit damn it.
“Steady boy,” Maverick soothed the big animal as he approached from above.
The way the horse had slid down the mountainside worked to his benefit. He’d lain into the slide instead of fighting it, and ended up lying into the hill, buried on his left side more than his right. It also prevented him from tumbling end over end. Nonetheless, Star’s legs and belly and his left side were firmly encased. Only his head and neck cleared the dirt. He struggled, shaking the dirt off his back and head.
Damn. No sign of the girl. She had to be dead. This was no rescue. Only another sucking body recovery. Maverick’s stomach pitched. He forced a swallow. Not again.
Still above the horse and looking for any signs of her, Maverick 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.” He stretched a hand to that big nose with flared, wide nostrils, half-afraid the gnashing, grunting animal might bite it off.
Star didn’t. The horse nickered, stretched his nose and bumped Maverick’s flat palm like he wanted another touch. Good enough. Maverick slid the rest of the way to the horse’s head, searching for signs of cuts or blood. “’S okay to be scared. That was a helluva scary ride, big guy.”
As if in answer, Star bowed his head. A shudder raced over the hide on his back and up his neck. An unexpected communication passed from horse to man. Hope flickered to life. This horse was in better shape than Maverick expected. Scared maybe, but damned spunky. Both good signs. Maybe the rider fared as well.
He stepped away from Star and slid farther down the ravine, studying the ground for signs of a body. An arm. An exposed hand. Anything. She had to be there somewhere.
A noise caught his ear. Maverick cocked his head to listen better. Star still wheezed and snorted, but this other sound was more soprano. Feminine. He climbed above the horse, planted his boots and stilled again, needing to find a living, breathing woman instead of a broken body.
The murmur again and there she was, on her side, her head angled uphill and covered with just enough dirt and dust to hide her from view. He ran to her, so damned glad for small blessings. With careful hands, he brushed the dirt from her face, nose and mouth.
“You’re going to be okay,” he lied because that’s what first responders were supposed to say to survivors. Tell ’em what they needed to hear. Make ’em believe. “Hold still. Let me get you our of here.”
A groan and a whimper lifted up from her throat.
His hands turned into scoops and shovel, his heart a hopeful locomotive unleashed as he uneart
hed the rest of her. He’d made it in time. A half-buried horse and an unconscious woman was not a good combination, not this far from the road or the nearest town, but she would live. She had to!
She lifted her one free arm to block the sun while he worked wordlessly to unbury the rest of her. A bloody scrape marked her forehead over her left eye, but no other injuries were apparent. After he’d moved most of the dirt, he ran his fingers firmly over her shoulders and arms, working his way to her wrists, checking for breaks or cuts.
She seemed to be in one piece, but she hadn’t opened her eyes yet, her breath coming in quick gasps for air.
“Tell me what hurts, ma’am.” He tried to get her to speak, mentally diagnosing the possible injuries she might have sustained. She must’ve flown clear of the horse before he fell. Might have broken an arm or a leg. Bumped her head. Internal bleeding. God, I hope not.
She snapped upright so quickly he was instantly in her way. “Star!”
“Now hold on.” He grabbed her forearms and leveled her back to the ground. A tiny slip of a woman like her didn’t survive this kind of trauma without serious damage. Something had to be broken. He smoothed two firm hands down the sides of her ribcage to her waist and hips, feeling for breakage and not sure what to do if he found any.
She shoved his hands 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.”
About the Author
Irish Winters is an award-winning author who dabbles in poetry, grandchildren, and rarely (as in extremely rarely) the kitchen. More prone to be outdoors than in, she grew up the quintessential tomboy on a farm in rural Wisconsin, spent her teenage years in the Pacific Northwest, but calls the Wasatch Mountains of Northern Utah home. For now.
The wife of one handsome husband and mother of three perfect sons, Irish divides her time between writing at home, and travelling the country with her man while – writing. (Seriously, what else?)
She believes in making every day count for something, and follows the wise admonition of her mother to, “Look out the window and see something!”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Do you believe it’s been less than two years since ALEX made his debut in December 2013? And here we are with number eight in the Sniper series and more to come? I can’t! It’s been an amazing ride, and I have many to thank for where I stand today. Without these people, I would still be thinking I could do it instead of I did it!
Nancy Richardson and Lynn Hill, my loyal round one, beta readers. They truly are the wind beneath my wings, and sometimes the hurricane.
For CJ Thomas and Darby Briar, my ass-in-the-chair partners in crime, an occasional margarita, and a few writing retreats. Their energy is contagious, exactly what I needed.
For Bob Houston, the savvy formatter who always greets me with a smile and finds a way to work my guys into his busy schedule.
For Kelli Ann Morgan, the cover artist who brings my tough guys to life and lets me peer over her shoulder while she works her magic.
For my copy editor, Lauren McKellar, who made me work harder and dig deeper on Gabe than I might have wanted to, but he’s so much more of a hero because of it.
For my final editor, Katie Johnson, for polishing Gabe to a fabulous shine.
For the many fans and the friends I’ve made along the way. It is my privilege to shake your hands, sign your books, and listen to your stories. Never could I have anticipated the fantastic response from military members and spouses this series has generated. You are the real warriors who inspire me.
As always, I end with my husband, Bill. He will always be my first hero.
As of today, there are fifteen books in this series. Are you with me to the end of this amazing ride? I hope so!
Follow Irish Winters on
FACEBOOK
https://www.facebook.com/author.irishwinters
WEBSITE
http://www.irishwinters.com
BLOG
http://irishwinters.blogspot.com
GOODREADS
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/
7500339.Irish_Winters
Ready to meet the rest of
The TEAM?
In the Company of Snipers Series
(Books 1-7)
ALEX
MARK
ZACK
HARLEY
CONNOR
RORY
TAYLOR
Coming soon
In the Company of Snipers Series
(Books 9-15)
Maverick (November 2015)
Cassidy (2016)
Adam (2016)
Lee (2016)
Hunter (2017)
Jake (2017)
Eric (2017)
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Gabe (In the Company of Snipers Book 8) Page 38