Maverick (Star Valley Book 3) (2 page)

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.

‡

L
eah Pierce’s legs
ached by the end of her shift at the gift shop. Summer break brought in the most families, young kids tossing the stuffed buffaloes back and forth until half of them ended up on the floor. They were cute though, and usually funny, and Leah didn’t hold it against them. She envied them, actually, not having any memories of being so carefree during her own childhood.

As the last stragglers paid for their purchases, Leah straightened the racks and shelves, finally stopping at a jewelry carousel that housed her own personal creations. She arranged the bracelets, earrings, and necklaces so that the afternoon sunlight caught the brightly colored stones as much as possible. The fire opals, turquoise, and shimmering glass beads tinkled against each other as she slowly spun the rack, looking for anything out of place. The Buffalo Bill Center of the West might not have been the Smithsonian, but Leah was determined to keep it pristine.

“These are so beautiful, Leah,” Mrs. Finley, her supervisor, said with a smile as she came up beside her and ran a hand along the jewelry.

A year ago, Leah would’ve assumed her boss was just being polite, but steady (albeit small) sales for the entire twelve months had bolstered Leah’s confidence considerably.
Bumblebee Baubles
wasn’t a big dream, as far dreams went, but it was
her
dream. Her best friend Candace had talked her into approaching Mrs. Finley to sell the little trinkets in the museum’s gift shop, and from there things grew, one tiny piece at a time.

“I have a few new sets that are almost finished,” Leah told her. “I’ll bring them in at the beginning of the week.”

“Enjoy your mini-vacation, dear!” called Mrs. Finley.

Leah waved and headed out the front door of the museum, into the baking noonday sun. The heat shimmered off the asphalt in the parking lot as she headed to the bus stop. She checked her watch and thought she might
just
have time to grab the Loop instead of the Downtown route, just enough time to stop by the dam before she went home to pack. She looked up at the sky which was darkening considerably. Huge storm clouds were coming in from the south end of town. It was impossible to tell how quickly it was moving though, or if it would miss Cody entirely.

Before she had a chance to talk herself out of it, she jumped onto the Loop and smiled at the driver before taking her seat. The sound of the large engine drowned out most of her own thoughts and within ten minutes, she was let off just outside of town at the Cody Dam. The emerald green waters of the huge reservoir rippled in the wind and Leah hurried across the parking lot, past the steel and glass Information Center to the concrete bridge that extended over the water and into the high rock face beyond.

Leah stood with the wind in her face and the water churning below her. Splintered timber butted up against the concrete side walls so thick that Leah imagined it might be possible to walk across it from one side to the other. Overhead, the dark clouds that had seemed so far away before gathered quickly now, rising up over the narrow valley and casting a long shadow. In the distance, thunder rumbled—a warning—but Leah didn’t heed it. She loved it here, and came whenever she could. It was one of her happiest memories from childhood, before things had all gone wrong and no passing storm was going to chase her, or her memories, away.

The wind kicked up, though, either oblivious to her presence or simply wanting her to leave. Another peal of thunder came so loud that it rang in her ears. Leah now realized she’d traversed the entire bridge and made it to the other side, but there was no shelter over here. The staircase down into the lower section had long since been padlocked off.

Across the bridge, someone came out of the Visitor Center just as a sheet of rain came tumbling down on top of them. Leah squinted and realized it was a woman, waving her arms frantically. Leah frowned up at the sky, which split at that moment when lightning streaked through the dark. Not afraid but still a bit unnerved at how quickly the storm was moving, Leah started back across the bridge, fighting the wind and grasping the waist-high wall for support.

She’d taken several steps toward the safety of the building when behind her, a sudden explosion ripped through the air, or at least that’s what it had sounded like. Leah fell, so startled was she by the cacophony behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see sparks flying. A lightning bolt had apparently hit the post of the chain link fence where she’d been standing just seconds ago.

Blinking at it in confusion, she heard another noise, or thought she did (the ringing in her ears was terrible at this point.) It was maybe a bird or a shriek of wind. Looking around she spotted the same woman, cowering against the side of the Visitor Center building. It took another moment for Leah to realize it wasn’t a bird crying out, it was her. She was gesturing wildly now.

Leah flattened herself against the flat concrete walkway and waited for the sky to light up around her again. This time it struck nothing, but the sharp scent of ozone filled her nose. When the resulting thunder started to rumble, Leah pushed off the ground, scrambled to her feet, and ran full tilt toward the screaming woman. The rain was coming down hard now and Leah was already soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her face.

She was late, she thought, as she sped toward the building. She really should’ve been home by now.

When she reached the end of the bridge, the woman snatched at Leah’s arm and pulled her toward the building’s front doors. They burst through them, together, while a few tourists stood huddled away from the windows, staring at them in disbelief.

“Oh, my God! Are you all right?” the woman screeched. “You could’ve been killed!”

Leah wrung out her shirt and simply nodded even though she didn’t agree. She couldn’t explain it and didn’t really want to, but Leah knew that death didn’t happen that way, at least not for her. Not quick and painless. Death was a long, slow, torturous process that took everything away by degrees until there was nothing left but that last gasp of air in the lungs. She also knew about luck, or rather, that she had none.

Leah Pierce was nowhere near lucky enough to be killed by a lightning strike.

Rarely able to come to the dam on Friday afternoons, she didn’t know this woman and had only seen her a handful of times. The woman was peering at her now as though Leah were crazy. Any minute, Leah thought, she might call the police.

“I didn’t think the storm was coming that fast,” Leah rambled while giving her a smile. “I had no idea.” The older woman stared at her with hard, uncertain eyes. Leah kept the smile plastered on and hoped for the best.

“You should wait out the worst of it here,” the lady finally said glancing toward the floor to ceiling windows of the gift shop.

Rain was pelting the glass and it was difficult to see the cars on the highway just a few hundred yards away. Trying to get home
would
be perilous, and according to the old woman, Leah had already defied death once this afternoon. She nodded and gave the woman another smile, this one sufficient enough to get the woman to leave her and head back behind the sales counter.