Love Finds You in Sundance, Wyoming

by Miralee Ferrell

  He grunted, held out his hand, and wrapped the shirt around the wound. “Knot it for me.” He raised pain-filled eyes.

  She tugged at the end of the fabric. “There. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  José gave her a tight smile. “I’m too tough to kill, m’ija. Your mother called you that. Do you remember? She always said that she named you Angel after taking one look at your sweet face on the day of your birth. And your papa, he called you pequeña—little one. Remember them, and remember me—your family.”

  “I won’t leave you. I’ll go back to the banda, and we’ll stay away from Hinson.”

  “No! Hinson grows too powerful among the men. He fears me, but he’s the kind of snake that will strike when your back is turned. If the posse wins this battle, you would go to jail along with the rest of us.” José fixed a firm gaze on her. “Ride fast and go far. Stay on the path the cattle have made for now, then veer off when you hit rocky ground. I’ll keep an eye on Hinson—make sure he doesn’t follow.” He laid his spurs into Rio’s sides, and the big gelding bounded forward.

  The renewed gunfire and the shouts of men brought her back to her immediate danger. She eased her horse deeper into the brush, knowing she should leave. Uncle, be safe.

  Hinson had moved to the far side of the herd, engrossed in a gun battle with two men from the posse. Three of the outlaw band tried to head off stampeding cattle, two lay sprawled on the ground, and the sixth crouched behind a stand of mesquite, firing at another Ranger.

  Angel’s gaze returned to her uncle, trotting his horse across a small clearing, his rifle raised. She wanted to pull her own rifle from its sheath and turn it on Hinson, the good-for-nothing who’d turned her life upside down. But she’d made a promise, and she’d keep it.

  “Come on, girl.” She nudged Bella forward, then slumped in her saddle, numbness permeating her body. She laid her knotted reins on her mare’s neck and rested her hands on the horn, trying to still the shaking.

  Her uncle had been her only family for the last ten years. She had memories of her parents, but not many. José had raised her like his own daughter and showered her with love and attention. Spilling blood wasn’t new to her, but the memory of her uncle’s wound caused bile to rise in her throat. She pushed it down and picked up the reins. This wasn’t the time to grieve.

  Angel headed toward the rising sun, praying the intense rays of early morning light would blind anyone who looked her direction. Hopefully the men were too engaged in staying alive to notice her weaving through the brush several hundred feet from the action.

  The men’s shouts grew fainter, and she could no longer see anyone from the posse or the outlaw band. Only a small number of straggling cattle milled about when she bent forward over Bella’s neck, urging her into a canter.

  Angel glanced at the sun. At least an hour had passed and nothing appeared behind her on the horizon. Grief slammed into her like a herd of stampeding horses. Everything she’d known lay behind her, and an unknown future beckoned.

  Alone.

  She had the gold, her rifle, and José’s instructions. Somehow she’d make it. But what should she do next? Angel straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. She’d not let Hinson find her.

  Time to change direction. On the first leg of her journey, the goal had been escape. Now, she added another element.

  Survival.

  Over the past month, Hinson had dogged her steps in the banda. He wouldn’t let her go without a fight. Every bit of the training she’d received from José would be bent on one thing—hiding her tracks as she moved toward country where she could disappear. If she didn’t, her life wouldn’t be worth living.

  Bart Hinson holstered his gun and grunted with satisfaction. His men had killed the last of the posse as he tried to race away, hanging low on his horse’s neck, undoubtedly to alert the rest of the Texas Rangers about their dead compadres. No way could they allow a man to return and sound the alarm, not after Bart had shot the Ranger heading the posse. They’d be hunted soon enough when the men didn’t return, but no one knew who’d fired the shot that brought the Ranger down. No one but Angel Ramirez.

  Bart scowled and spat to the side, then swung around to the nearest man. “Where’s the girl?”

  Barnes tugged at a torn strip of cloth he’d knotted around a flesh wound in his arm. “Gone. Saw her ride off close to an hour ago.”

  Bart sprang at the man and backhanded him across the mouth. He leveled his pistol at Barnes’s head. “You let her go? Give me a reason I shouldn’t kill you now.”

  Barnes lay on his back, clutching his arm and groaning. “I’d just got winged. Weren’t nothin’ I could do to stop her.”

  “Why didn’t you tell one of us?”

  “Didn’t think about it.” The man’s voice changed to a whine. “She ain’t no account. Why you worried about her, anyway? We got most of the cattle.”

  Bart lowered his weapon, leaned over the man, and snarled a curse. “She saw me plug that Ranger, that’s why.” He jerked his head at the remaining four men. Two others had fallen in the battle, and José had been wounded and slipped away at some point. “José go with her?”

  “Naw. He limped off a different direction not long ago. Bleedin’ pretty bad. He probably won’t make it.”

  “I want two of you to go after him. Hunt him down and kill him.” They’d take time to bury their dead. Their women wouldn’t be happy that the bodies of the men weren’t returned to the camp, but he refused to cart stinking bodies along the rest of the trip.

  Once that was done, the men would start after José. Bart himself would find the girl. José must have schemed to fool Bart by going the opposite direction, so Angel would get away. Bart’s lip curled in contempt. No woman could hide her tracks well enough that he couldn’t find her. He smirked, thinking about Angel Ramirez wearing men’s trousers. He’d always fancied he’d have her one day.

  He’d suspected Angel’s uncle intended to take her away. When the bullets started flying, he knew—José planned to disappear, leaving the men to fight without him. It was one thing to be hunted as a cattle thief, but a Ranger’s death would increase the intensity of a posse’s search. No one walked away from this gang unless they were dead.

  Angel would agree to be his woman, or die.

  Chapter Two

  Wyoming Territory, 1890

  Three years later

  Angel Ramirez was tired of being alone and sick of posing as a man. In fact, living a lie these past three years had wearied her beyond measure.

  Hunkered on her belly on top of a bluff, she stared at the herd of cattle in the distance, wishing she’d followed her impulse to get a dog. “Talking to myself is just one of the things I’m tired of,” she muttered under her breath.

  Accepting the puppy offered by a family making their way west a few months ago would have helped pass the lonely hours, but it wouldn’t have solved her more urgent problem. She couldn’t just change into a dress and announce to her boss that he’d hired a woman.

  Heaving a sigh, she pushed to her feet. All appeared well, with no gray shadows skulking along the edges of the grazing cattle, seeking to pull down a lone calf.

  Angel tugged off her sombrero, loosened her braid, and ran her fingers through her tangled black curls. She shook out her hair and rubbed her scalp, enjoying the feel of the breeze. But she’d best get it braided again and tucked back under her hat where it wouldn’t be seen.

  She’d finished breaking the last mustang from the small band they’d captured a few weeks ago, and the rancher she worked for was teetering toward letting her go.

  Not that she cared, but she had nowhere to go after this short job ended. Angel hadn’t minded moving from one ranch to another, but not having a home had started to wear heavily on her.

  Angel still missed her uncle José, but he’d made the right decision. Hinson wouldn’t have left her alone and probably would’ve forced her into a marriage she didn’t desire—or worse.

>   Three years was long enough to dress in men’s clothing with a tight band around her chest to keep her figure from showing. She’d purposely deepened her voice, speaking mixed Spanish and English, and managed to get by.

  She swiped at the moisture dotting her forehead with the back of her sleeve. The sun dipped toward the horizon. Time to toss her bedroll on the back of her saddle and call it a day.

  Travis Morgan loped Ranger, his bay gelding, alongside his thirteen-year-old nephew James’s buckskin, keeping a constant eye on the boy.

  Overall, James had adapted well to the move from San Francisco to Wyoming, though an occasional sullen air hung over him—no doubt due to the death of his father ten months prior. Travis sighed and tugged on his reins, slowing Ranger to a trot. He loved that his widowed sister, Libby, had moved to his home, but sometimes he felt inadequate in helping to raise her son.

  “Slow down, James.” Travis scanned the grasslands and pointed to the sky. “See those circling buzzards? They’ve spotted fresh kill.”

  James turned toward him. Hazel eyes, so much like Libby’s, glowed with excitement. “Whad’ya think it is?”

  “Not sure. Could be a calf, but I hope not. I’d hate to lose any more stock.”

  James hunched a shoulder. “But you got thousands.”

  Travis shoved away his irritation. Until a few months ago, James had lived in a city and didn’t understand what it took to survive in this rugged country. “Every calf is important. The ranch wouldn’t have thousands if I lost calves every day.” Travis kept an eye on the buzzards. Whatever was hurt wasn’t too far away.

  “Maybe it’s something else. Wanna race?” James picked up his reins and leaned forward in the saddle.

  Travis grasped Jasper’s reins before the boy could act. “Not so fast! In these parts, you look first.” He waited for James to relax before releasing his hold on the horse. “Take it slow, all right?”

  James nodded, but his lips drooped. “All right.” Jasper followed at a quick walk behind Ranger as the gelding moved out.

  Travis headed across the open plateau that extended miles to the south. He never tired of this view, even after owning the ranch for six years. Rock cliffs rose in the distance, showing clearly against the clear Wyoming sky. Grasslands that could graze far more than his two thousand head of cattle rose higher than a man’s knee over much of this country, and springs and creeks dotted the land.

  If only his father would come west to see what he’d accomplished since leaving St. Louis. Had it really been nine years since he’d last seen his only parent? But Derek Morgan was angry that his son hadn’t joined his law firm. It still puzzled Travis that Libby had chosen to come to him, but he hated to question his sister as to her motives in this time of grief.

  A dark splotch grew more distinct as they drew closer. A black, long-horned cow stood some distance away from a small body lying on the ground. Strange that the mother wasn’t standing guard over her baby. A ragged shape rose from the ground next to the lifeless calf, and Travis withdrew his rifle from the scabbard in one easy motion. A gray wolf raised his head and glared in their direction.

  James must have seen the predator at the same time, as he sat forward in his saddle and stared. “Is that a wolf?”

  “It is.” Travis reined his horse to a halt. The calf was dead, so making sure of a kill wasn’t vital, but he could scare the wolf and teach James to protect the herd at the same time. “Here.” He held his Henry .44-caliber rifle across the open space between the two horses. “Take it.”

  James stared at the rifle and then up at Travis. “Why?”

  “We can’t have wolves killing our stock. Take it nice and slow, just like I taught you. ”

  “Yes, sir.” James handled the rifle carefully, keeping it pointed down until he got a tight grip on the stock.

  “Good. Aim a little higher than you think you need to.”

  James nodded, his face alight. “Okay.” He placed the rifle against his shoulder and sighted down the barrel.

  Travis watched the rangy gray wolf, intent on the feast before him. It was a long shot—over two hundred feet—but it would serve the purpose of scaring the predator away.

  James took a deep breath and let it out slowly, just like he’d been taught, then squeezed the trigger. The gun bellowed and jumped in his hands, and James yelped.

  A chunk of grass not far from the calf flew up in the air, and the wolf bolted.

  “Not bad, son.” Travis held out his hand and waited till James gave him the gun. “You just needed to tighten the butt against your shoulder.”

  James rubbed the sore area and scowled. “Yeah. I got so excited I forgot.”

  Travis bumped his gelding with his heel and moved toward the carcass. “Let’s make sure the mother isn’t hurt, and then head home. Don’t want to worry your ma.”

  A lone wolf howled and, seconds later, another voice echoed the refrain. Answering calls resounded as the pack bayed, apparently on the hunt again. He’d hoped this kill was an isolated incident, but from the din in the distance, he guessed his troubles had only begun.

  Libby Waters stood at the window in the parlor gazing at the cloud of dust surrounding the two riders approaching the house. Her shoulders slumped in relief as she noted her son bringing up the rear. It was only another hour before sunset. What was her brother thinking, keeping James out so late? She pushed open the door and stepped out, drying her hands on a dishtowel. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, wondering how much she dare say.

  Travis and James reined to a stop in front of the two-story house and swung to the ground.

  Libby straightened her shoulders. “I’m glad you’re back. I thought something might have happened…” She turned toward Travis. “It’s not that I don’t trust you with my son.” She wrapped her arms around herself and attempted to smile.

  Travis nodded. “He won’t get hurt, Libby.” He looped the reins around the hitching point and stepped onto the porch.

  “I’m not used to living so far from town.” Her fingers worked at a wrinkle in her skirt. “I’m not complaining, mind you—I love the ranch and I’m grateful to be here—but it’s so different from home.”

  He took off his hat and tossed it onto the porch swing. “It’s a better place to raise the boy. And he’s always with me or one of my men.”

  “I know. It might be different if I had another woman close by. It’s just so far…”

  Nate Taylor, the ranch foreman, strode up to the edge of the porch just as James bounded up the steps, his freckled face lit with excitement. “Ma, guess what?”

  Nate tipped his hat at Libby but waited for the boy to finish. The big man had an easy way about him and moved with a fluid grace that didn’t mark many men his size.

  Libby leaned forward. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it home before dark.”

  James shook his head and waved an impatient hand. “I was with Uncle Travis.” The next words nearly exploded from his mouth. “I shot at a wolf.”

  Libby stared. “With what?”

  The boy rolled his eyes. “A rifle. A wolf killed one of the calves. Uncle Travis let me shoot at it.” His grin faded, and he dropped his head. “But I missed.”

  Travis stepped forward and clapped the boy on the back. “You came close. It was a fine first try.”

  Libby drew herself up, frowning at Travis. “You let him shoot at a wolf? Why?”

  Travis lowered his brows. “Learning to shoot is part of living in the West.”

  “Fine. Take him out to practice. But teaching him to kill animals?” She glared at her brother. This Western country was hard, and the last thing she wanted was her son turned into a killer—even if his target was a wolf. She’d protected James most of his life, and while she was thankful Travis had taken them in, this wasn’t the direction she wanted her boy to take.

  Her brother started to answer, but Nate stepped forward. “Boss, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you need to know something.”

&nbs
p; Travis turned his attention away from Libby. “Let’s have it.”

  “It wasn’t just one calf. I was on the west side of the ranch and found two more dead. We’ve lost at least two dozen this spring, and I’m guessing we’ll lose more. There’s got to be two or three packs pulling down the young ones.” He turned to Libby and withdrew his hat from a head of dark brown hair beginning to show a sprinkling of gray on the edges. “Sorry, Mrs. Waters, but we can’t allow critters to kill our stock.”

  Libby nodded slowly. “I see. I won’t say anything more, although I’d appreciate it if you men, rather than my son, did the shooting.” She swung toward James. “Take your horse to the barn and unsaddle him.”

  “But Ma, we haven’t had supper yet.”

  “You need to do your own chores and that includes caring for your mount. It’s not Mr. Taylor’s job.” She waved her fingers. “Go along with you, now.” She turned to Travis and braced a hand against the aching small of her back. “I’ll reheat dinner. Have you given more thought to hiring household help?”

  Travis leaned against a post. “Smokey takes care of fixing breakfast and supper. I can’t see why it’s too big of an imposition for you to care for your son when he comes in late.”

  “I do our laundry, cook the noontime meal, help tend the garden, and keep the house clean. I don’t understand why you’re so against hiring someone to help.”

  “There are a lot of ranch expenses you aren’t aware of, Libby. If it becomes too much of a burden, I’ll consider it.” He shook his head. “But let’s see how things go for a while.”

  Libby nodded to Nate and Travis. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your discussion.” She turned toward the door.

  “Evening, ma’am,” Nate said as she walked away.

  Travis could be so dense at times, just like when they were kids, she fumed. Sometimes she wanted to shake her younger brother.

  But now wasn’t the time. Why couldn’t he understand the stress she felt, moving here from San Francisco? Would it hurt him so much to bring in a woman to help, even part-time? She’d hold on to his promise to consider it and pray he’d agree soon.