Wind River Lawman

by Lindsay McKenna

  “He’s an alcoholic, from what Garret said, an unreformed one, drinking as much now as he did in the past.”

  Sarah shook her head. “Last Tuesday, Ray was driving fifty miles per hour in a twenty-five zone, and one of my deputies pulled him over and gave him a speeding ticket. Crawford started cussing him out and the deputy told him he’d better zip it up or he was going to jail.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Crawford put a sock in it. None of us like dealing with him. He’s ornery, a blowhard and a liar. I honestly don’t know how Shay managed to survive the bastard for the first eighteen years of her life. Her mother’s dead. Crawford abuses everyone around him. That’s why he lost his cattle leases and the ranch fell into disrepair. He was always cussing out the wranglers he hired, and one by one, they all quit because they weren’t going to take that kind of crap from him or anyone. And then he couldn’t hire anyone because they all knew what he was like, and no wrangler worth their salt was going to step into that buzz saw and get verbally abused daily by him.”

  “Didn’t Crawford get it?”

  Shaking her head, she muttered, “Nope. He’s an alcoholic. He’s selfish, self-centered and doesn’t care about anything else but his own immediate needs.” She rested her hand on the thigh of her Levi’s, looking ahead, assessing the fence posts and the barbed wire between each one.

  “Doesn’t seem fair,” Dawson said. He liked that Sarah had braided her hair, and it hung down between her shoulder blades. This morning she looked like a wrangler, not a sheriff. Normally, when he’d see her, she was tense, her game face in place, her lips pursed, as if holding back a lot of emotion. He knew she carried a lot of loads herself. Some known. Many unknown. And he wanted to know all about her: why she was the way she was.

  Giving an abrupt laugh, Sarah said, “What in life is ever fair, Callahan? You of all people, with your skills and insights, know that.”

  Rubbing his chin with his gloved hand, he said, “Yeah, but you hate to see bad things happen to good people. When you look at the Bar C, the new horse arena, the two barns recently painted and a number of the fenced pastures having cattle leases this year, you know Shay and Reese, plus the other vets, are hauling ass and doing a helluva lot of work to make it all happen.”

  “Oh, they work their butts off, Dawson. All of them.”

  “Why can’t Crawford just walk away?”

  “He’s angry at his daughter, angry at his dead wife, who was the owner of the ranch through her family, angry that in her will, she left it to Shay, not him. He’s vengeful, on top of all the rest of his fine attributes.”

  “I wouldn’t have left it to Crawford for love or money,” Dawson growled.

  “You can’t choose your family members.”

  He heard the heaviness in her husky voice. “Is everything okay with your parents?”

  “Yes, they’re fine.” She waved her hand. “I was talking obliquely, about another family living in Wind River Valley.”

  “I’m all ears. I learn a lot from you about the people who live here,” he teased, seeing her lips purse once more. There was darkness in her eyes, so Dawson sensed whatever was bothering Sarah, it might be an old problem, not a new one.

  “Good thing you’re trustworthy,” she said, pulling Socks to a halt. Up ahead, there was a rotted post leaning and straining against the barbed wire that kept it from falling over. “I’ll tell you about it as we dig out that post.”

  Dismounting, Dawson placed the reins into the rich grass around them. Both horses had been taught to ground tie. Once the reins were dropped, they didn’t move. “No, I’m not a gossip, that’s for sure,” he said, opening his saddlebags, taking out the tools they’d need. They’d have to cut the five strands of barbed wire, dig out around the rotted post enough to pull it out. Once it was out, Sarah would note it on the GPS of her phone and send the info via email to Shay at her office. Then, two vet wranglers would bring out a truck with a new post, dig a proper posthole and place the new one in it. After that, they’d restring the barbed wire, making that section of the fence sturdy once more.

  They got to work, cutting the barbed wire, looping it and carefully walking it back to the other posts so it wouldn’t tangle in their horse’s feet. Dawson smiled to himself as he began to shovel out a hole around the leaning post. Sarah knew her business when it came to the sharp, cutting barbed wire. She had a pair of wire cutters, wore thick, protective elkskin gloves, a pair of half chaps that hung from her waist to just below her knees. The lower legs of her Levi’s were getting soaked and darkened from the dew-laden, nearly calf-high grass. But so was his. “So?” he prodded, “tell me about this other family who’s on your worry radar,” and he looked up to see her grimace.

  “Have you heard anyone mention the Elson family who live in the south valley?” she asked, looping and then bringing the five strands together and using the twine from a hay bale to tie it to the healthy fence post eight feet away from where he was digging.

  “No.”

  “You haven’t been here long enough, that’s why,” she answered grimly, making her way over to the strands of barbed wire on the other side, snipping them off the rotted post, quickly removing the U-shaped rusty nails, as well. “That family has lived here in the valley for two generations. The present one consists of the parents, Brian and Roberta. They had four sons: Hiram, Kaen, Cree and Elisha. They’re nothing but trouble on the loose. Brian is an alcoholic, plus a child and wife abuser. Roberta is on recreational drugs most of the time, and she refuses to press charges against Brian even though he’s blacked both her eyes, fractured her right cheekbone, nose and broken her right arm. So, he keeps beating her up. Cree Elson kidnapped Tara Dalton when she was sixteen. He was in ‘love’ with her, so he grabbed her and carried her off to a cabin up in the Salt River Mountain range. We got her back safe and sound. Cree went to prison for years. Tara left the valley after high school graduation and went into the military. She got back from her enlistment and came home. Cree was out of prison, found out she was back in the valley. Within months of her arrival home, Tara was once again kidnapped by him.”

  Dawson gave a low whistle. “That had to be really hard on Tara. I haven’t met her yet, but I know she’s engaged to Harper Sutton. What happened when he grabbed her the second time?”

  “We managed to intercept Cree up on the side of a mountain in the Salt River range and rescue her. He hadn’t hurt her except to tie her wrists together in front of her with a rope.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t luck that got you to Elson in time to save her.” He halted his digging, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his gloved hand.

  “It was a lot of good people, law enforcement and a drone owned by a father and son, all coming together to help Tara. That enabled us to find him before he disappeared into the forest with her. And there was no luck involved. It was hard, quick planning by my people back at the courthouse, and I ran the rescue from the canyon parking lot where he took her.”

  “But you organized it. Right?” He watched her tie up the strands to the other post. Sarah was thorough. She approached everything with critical, detailed observation, putting the pieces together, first so she understood before reacting or creating a plan. She wasn’t the type to knee-jerk in a crisis either. He’d already seen that when they were bushwhacked out on Route 89.

  “Yes. I have good relationships with all the organizations in and out of our county. We have a drone club in Wind River, and it was a man and his son who came when I asked them to try to locate Cree and Tara. Their help was enormous.”

  “Eyes in the sky,” he agreed. “When you talk about the Elsons, I hear a lot more in your voice than just worry.”

  “Because they’ve been a thorn in the side of this county and law enforcement for two generations. This generation of men has all done serious federal prison or jail time.”

  “What are they? Drug runners?”

  “Yes. That’s their MO. But I’m more concerned th
is past year that they might hook up with Gonzalez and his crew; enlarge their skill set into sex trafficking and slavery. We’re having girls as young as twelve years old snatched right off our roads and streets, Dawson. Girls coming home from school, dragged into a van or truck, and they disappear forever. It’s sickening. And it’s escalating all over the country. It isn’t just in Wyoming.”

  He heard a lot of pain in her voice over the last. Digging more with the shovel, widening the hole, he frowned. “Are you working with the FBI regarding Gonzalez trying to take over your county?”

  “Absolutely. Also with the sex trafficking unit. It’s an added burden on the FBI, as well as us. We just don’t have the money to hire more deputies. These poor girls get kidnapped, carried off to another state or country, forced into giving sex to any man who pays for it. I’ve got a team of deputies who give educational talks to schools, clubs and anyone who wants information on it in our county. It’s crucial we make all parents aware of what their young daughters and sons need to do if an unknown man approaches them. I’ve lobbied the governor for more funds, but Wyoming is in a bust cycle with the oil business, so there’s no money for any county.” Her lips flattened as she straightened, placing the wire cutters in a side pocket on her leather chaps. “I’m afraid if Gonzalez continues his move to get into our state, sooner or later the Elsons are going to become known to him.”

  “What can he do? Force them to work with him?”

  “Not force, but he’ll give them a piece of the action, which means they have to swear allegiance to his organization. He needs people on the ground who know the area. And the Elsons are more than acquainted with every nook and cranny of this county. It will just make our job harder if another girl or boy is snatched.” She turned away, heading back to Socks, who was happily munching on the thick, green grass near his hooves.

  Straightening, Dawson heard raw anguish in her voice. Where had that come from? He almost stopped digging and went over to where she was standing at the saddlebags, opening one of them. If he wasn’t seeing things, he thought her hands were slightly trembling. What the hell! His gut twisted in reaction and he sensed something emotionally overwhelming to Sarah, but he couldn’t name it and had no idea what it might be. But he was seeing it.

  Ordering himself to mind his own business, Dawson went back to digging. How long had they known each other? Less than two weeks? Right now, he wanted to explore common ground with Sarah, as well as to create trust. He’d lain awake most of last night wondering why he was so enamored with her. Dawson had no answers, just frustration. Sarah had a secret. And it was a secret so huge that it had made her hands tremble.

  * * *

  Sarah gulped several times, keeping her back to Dawson. Dammit! She couldn’t even discuss sex trafficking without seizing up emotionally about it. The look in Dawson’s face, the care burning in his gray eyes, damn near made her unravel like a ball of yarn. She couldn’t cry! The lump in her throat grew to almost a painful level, so much so that she grabbed a bottle of water out of the saddlebag and gulped down several swallows to stop the reaction.

  Wiping her mouth with the back of her gloved hand, she heard Dawson once more digging. Relief spread through her. This wasn’t something she could talk about to him, but God knew she wanted to do exactly that. He was a strong, quiet man with a level of maturity she found missing in so many men. He listened intently when she spoke, and she could feel him absorbing every word she said. The only people who gave her that full, undivided attention on personal matters were her parents and grandmothers. Because they loved her and cared about her in every possible way. Yet, Dawson was giving her that same level of awareness.

  Twisting on the cap, she shoved the water bottle down into the saddlebag and felt less wobbly in the stomach, the tears receding and the lump in her throat dissolving. Closing her eyes for a moment, she dragged in a ragged breath to try to steady her shaken nerves. Somehow, just being around Dawson triggered her emotionally and she couldn’t explain why. It wasn’t that he was manipulating her or being anything but honest and straightforward, as he’d always been with her. It was her reaction that shocked her. Dawson seemed to just naturally create a safe haven for her when they talked. All the buried feelings in her had wanted to be released over the nightmarish years that haunted her, and then, to give them voice. Nothing and no one had ever made her want to share what had happened to her like this.

  Sarah wasn’t sure what to do about it, waffling and questioning her attraction to Dawson. The man wasn’t a flirt. He was attentive, playful at times, and he made her laugh. There was a nice, heated vibe between them, and it seemed stronger and hotter the more time they spent together. She wasn’t going to lie to herself: he was a hunk. She was sure he had some eccentricities, but whatever they were, they hadn’t become apparent—yet.

  Time. She just needed time, and to rein in her desire to entrust her emotional well-being to him. Oh, she wasn’t innocent; that was for sure. And she hadn’t peeked out from beneath a cabbage leaf yesterday either. Her gut compass, her heart and sixth sense, told her that Dawson was as steady and constant as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. Even Gertie was thrilled to pieces about the guy. He had shadowed her the first week and now, at the beginning of the second one, was almost amazing her grandmother with his intuitive ability to be there at the right time and place to help her. And not only that—he’d gotten her to go to an acupuncturist in Jackson Hole last Monday and since then, her wrists had no pain. That just about made Gertie faint, because her wrist pain had been constant for the last five years.

  Was it Dawson? His knowledge of medicine? Sarah got ready to help him pull out the fence post. She decided patience was the best course of action as she released the lariat from the leather around it.

  “We about ready to have Socks pull that fence post out?” she asked, opening the lariat.

  “Yeah, we’re there,” Dawson said, placing the shovel on another post and walking up to her. As she handed him the lasso, he carried it to the leaning post and tightened the loop around it. “Go ahead and mount up,” he said, holding the rope up off the wet grass.

  Nodding, Sarah threw her leg over Socks, wrapped the rope around the horn several times and guided him in the direction Dawson wanted the post removed. The rope grew taut as she backed Socks, watching the post begin to slide grudgingly out of the wet, muddy earth. Socks lowered his rear, front hooves digging in, using his thirteen-hundred pounds of weight to make the difference. In moments, the post lay on the ground. Sarah pulled Socks to a halt, giving him a well-earned pat. The horse snorted, as if it were nothing.

  “Garret told me the other day that Socks used to be one of the top quarter horses in the state when it came to calf roping,” Dawson said as he slid the lasso off the post, bringing it over to Sarah, who had her hand out for it.

  “Yes, he was. He’s fifteen now, and Shay said they retired him to only do ranch work. No more calf roping competitions for this big guy,” and she quickly put the lariat back into place, tightening the leather loop below the saddle horn.

  Patting the chestnut, Dawson said, “He’s a quiet, steady horse with a lot of experience and knowledge. He’s the kind that will keep you safe in a tight situation.”

  “Sort of like you,” she said teasingly, smiling down at him.

  “Me?”

  “You.”

  “I make you feel safe?”

  She saw the surprise in his expression. “Yes, you do.” She leaned down, splaying her hand against Socks’s sleek neck. It was then that the surprise in his eyes turned to pleasure, and he gave her a cocky grin.

  “Well, unlike Socks, I’m not past my prime.”

  “Oh, I’d never make the mistake of thinking that, Callahan.” She enjoyed their sparring repartee because Dawson was never mean or pointed with his teasing. She saw him move Socks’s forelock and smooth it down the center of the white blaze on his forehead.

  “So? In your world, Ms. Carter? A man who’s
slow, steady and experienced is a good thing?” and he met and held her gaze.

  Her lower body went hot because the look he gave her was one of a man who definitely was interested in the woman he was with. “I like a man I can count on,” she agreed, appearing outwardly unruffled but feeling far from it.

  “Kind of like your father?” he wondered. “David strikes me as a quiet, earnest man with the patience of Job.”

  “As usual, your perception is right on the money. I’m not the most patient person in the world and my dad taught me the virtue of becoming that way. And I’ve learned to appreciate that same skill in the people around me.”

  Dawson nodded. “You’ve got red strands in your hair, Sarah, so I always thought there was a side to you that was wild, spontaneous and not necessarily patient,” and he added a grin.

  “Ginger-colored hair is not red hair. There’s a difference.”

  “But were you a wild child growing up?”

  She became somber. “For a while, I was, yes. But things changed, and I tempered that part of me after that.”

  “Hmmm, I’d like to see that wild little girl side of you come and play sometime when appropriate. I know you can’t show that part because of the law-enforcement side of things, but I sense you can be pretty spontaneous when you’re in a different situation.”

  Sarah moved a little uncomfortably in the saddle, seeing the glimmer in Dawson’s eyes, that male confidence of his so sure about her. “That little girl is gone. What you see now is what you get.”

  “Pity,” he murmured. “I learned a long time ago to play when I could, work when I had to and then go back and play some more.”

  “Did you get that from your parents?”

  “Yeah, and my baby brother, Toby. He was the wild child in our family.” He stroked Socks’s neck, becoming more serious. “Toby was always up for adventure, risk taking and doing something new or different. I was pretty much the stick in the mud, as he used to accuse me of being. I only had ten years with him, but he taught me a lot, and I swore after he died that I’d become more like him. Toby was serious when he had to be, and he was responsible, but he always knew when to blow it off and go play and break that serious, responsible energy around him. He taught me a lot.”