Wrangler (Star Valley Book 2)

by Dahlia West

  They were moving away from the dawn, which was approaching, albeit slowly. It felt fitting as they crested the first hill and down into the first valley on the way to the Snake. In the gray morning light, they passed Kit’s cabin, the origin, the foundation of their claim to the land, and he tried not to look at it.

  Though his respect for the past was unmarred, his hope for the future—his own, anyway—had dimmed. He still thought the Snake would recover. With their bare hands, he and his brothers would build it back up, better than it had ever been before. But now there would be no one to share it with. It would’ve been fun to bring her out here.

  She would’ve shrieked at the spiders; he would’ve killed them one by one with his boot. Then she would’ve screamed again, for entirely different reasons. Swimming in the Snake, taking her up to the Folly (when she had more riding experience)—it all would’ve been exactly what he wanted for himself, all of it fading faster than the shadows in front of him.

  Crossing the Snake was easy this time of year, thankfully, and they ended up on the other side a little muddy but no worse for wear. Sawyer held Cash back, making the ride take longer, slower than the rodeo horse wanted to go. But there was no sense in pushing hard to make camp before dawn and possibly breaking one of Cash’s legs in the process.

  Sunlight finally broke over the horizon by the time horse and rider started up the narrow trail to the top of the mountain the Barlows now owned. Visibility was still a little low when they made the first plateau, so when they got within range of camp, Sawyer pulled Cash to a halt and let out a sharp whistle. Better safe than sorry. Sawyer didn’t care much at this point if he got shot, but neither Court nor Austin should have to live with a mistake like that. A long whistle sounded back, and Sawyer nudged Cash to get him moving again. Within a few yards, a figure materialized in the dark.

  “Sawyer?” Court called softly.

  “It’s me.”

  “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?” He grabbed at the radio clipped to his belt, but Sawyer waved his hand dismissively.

  “Everything’s fine,” Sawyer assured him. “Willow’s fine.”

  “Why are you here early?”

  “I just wanted to come.”

  Something in his voice might have given the man pause, because although Court watched him closely, he didn’t ask any more questions.

  Sawyer made his way into camp, toward a fire that was already mostly dead. The horses in the rope pen nickered a greeting, and Cash returned the sentiment, eager to see BlackJack, probably, his old roping partner. Sawyer lifted his leg over the back of the saddle and lowered himself to the ground.

  Just as his boot hit the dirt, Austin burst from his tent with his rifle at the ready, but he nearly dropped it when he saw it was just Sawyer. Cash spooked a little at the sudden movement but didn’t bolt, even though Sawyer had let go of the reins.

  “What the hell?” Austin asked, uncocking his gun. “What are you doing here? Where’s Gabe?”

  “I’m making camp,” Sawyer muttered. “Gabe’ll be along according to the schedule.”

  “Yeah, okay, but why come up early?”

  Sawyer didn’t answer.

  “What are you doing up here?” Austin repeated. “If I had Cassidy Conroy in my bed, I’d be in it, brother. And she’d be in it. Wearing nothing but that tiara.”

  Sawyer walked Cash to the makeshift round pen and led him inside.

  Court came to stand beside Austin, both men eyeing him warily. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have Cassidy Conroy in his bed anymore,” Court mused.

  Austin let out a long sigh. “Well, damn. I guess it was bound to happen, though. What can you do with a girl like that after you’ve ridden her harder than a bronc in the ring?”

  “Don’t talk about her like that!” Sawyer snapped.

  Both Court and Austin looked at each other then back to Sawyer.

  “Fabulous,” Austin growled after a long moment of silence. “Now there’s two of you up here.”

  “I’m going to sleep,” Sawyer told them as he stomped to the closest tent. “I’ll take first watch tonight.”

  He crawled inside and yanked off his boots, then he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the buzz of a migraine behind his lids. He hoped a fucking cougar would get him again this time. Or maybe a bear. Nothing could feel worse than this, and at the very least it’d finally be over. “Don’t let me dream about her,” he whispered to nothing and no one in particular.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

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  CASSIDY WOKE SLOWLY in the darkened motel room. When she got out of bed and peeled back the plastic, fireproof curtain, sunlight spilled into the room, illuminating tiny particles of dust wafting through the air. The Dusty Rose was certainly aptly named. So she had a room, with a view—sort of. Mostly she was looking at her car, parked in the space assigned to the room.

  It was the only concrete reminder of her family she had left. And she didn’t want concrete reminders. This was it. It was difficult and painful to think of Sawyer and Snake River as merely rest stops on her road to someplace else, someplace better, a life that was better. But that’s what they were. They had to be. Because the only two options before her now were to go back home or try to make a home of her own. And as she looked at the car, the sleek, black, expensive machine that was as much a part of the façade of Conroy Cattle as the fake smile on Cassidy’s face, she knew she couldn’t go back.

  She showered, put her clothes back on, and climbed into the car. She took one last ride, the long way around the outskirts of town, still not down the back road where her mother had died, but close enough to say good-bye, at least. There would be no more long drives for her after today. Her heart knocked a little as she turned down the county road that led to Conroy Cattle.

  The place looked exactly the same, which made sense, as she hadn’t really been gone all that long. But Cassidy was surprised, anyway. She’d changed so much in the last few weeks that she felt sure everything else had, as well. But the house was still standing, and Dad and Palmer’s matching trucks were still parked in the driveway.

  She left her Mercedes in front of the house, keys on the seat, and intended to ask one of the ranch hands for a ride back into town. She only made it a few steps, though, before Palmer appeared before her, casting a long shadow as he glared at her. “Why are you back? I’m not sure we have much need for another used-up slut when we have Karen,” he told her.

  Cassidy snorted. “Have you had Karen? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  A sudden flash of panic crossed Palmer’s face, and she gasped. “Oh my God! You did! She’s our stepmother, Palmer! I can’t believe it. You fu—”

  Palmer’s hand shot out, and Cassidy was ready for it but was still not fast enough to avoid it. The knuckles of the back of his hand connected with the side of her face and spun her. She fell back against the Mercedes and nearly tumbled the rest of the way to the ground. He grabbed a handful of her hair and shook her head viciously. “Shut up!” he hissed. “Shut your whore mouth! If you ever say anything, if you ever tell, I will slit your throat! I swear it, Cassidy. I will kill you.”

  He rattled her head again hard enough to make her nearly lose consciousness. From behind them, she heard a voice that sounded a bit like it was underwater.

  “That’s enough, Palmer.”

  Cassidy blinked, vision returning to her eyes, and looked up to see her father looming beside them both. He looked angry, but not at her brother. Instead he glared down at her.

  Her first thought was to tell him about Karen and Palmer, but she had no doubt that Palmer would make good on his promise. He really would kill her. He was just that sick.

  Dad smirked at her. “If you thought it’d be easy to come back home—”

  “I’m not coming back home!” she cried, struggling to her feet and standing in front of him.

  For once in his life, her father actually looked surprised. Cassidy couldn’t tell if it was because she’d ra
ised her voice to him or because of what she’d said. She suspected it was both.

  “Where are you going to go? To Snake River? You’ll have nothing there, you know. Walker won’t have you. You’ll just be his younger brother’s whore.”

  “Better than being your whore,” she snapped.

  “Cassidy,” her father said evenly, “we all have our parts to play in this family. Marrying well is yours. It’s only as difficult as you make it. It’s not too much to ask. It costs you nothing, and it gets you everything. I’ll never understand why you fought me so hard.”

  “You’re wrong,” she told him. “It cost a lot, actually. My self-respect, mostly.”

  He laughed. “And what’s that worth? Where will you go when Sawyer Barlow’s done with you? Where will you live? How will you even feed yourself? You’re nothing, Cassidy. You’re nothing but my daughter, and if you don’t come back to Conroy Cattle, you’ll end up nowhere, nowhere at all.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to admit that Sawyer was already done with her, that she already had no way to take care of herself. She’d figure it out, though. Because it was the only choice left. As she pressed one hand to her throbbing face, she knew she’d never survive here. She had to get out now and never look back. She turned away from both of them, from her home, from the life she’d known the longest and simply walked away.

  No one followed her. No one cared enough to. She passed Karen, standing on the porch steps, and didn’t even give the woman a second glance. She could have the place, and the people in it. Cassidy was getting as far away as she could.

  She made it down the driveway and to the highway and just kept walking, back to the city limits. No cars passed, and that was disappointing because after the first thirty minutes, her feet had started to hurt, and God, she was thirsty, but she could see Star Valley over the flat horizon. She just had to get there. This was the most alone she’d ever been in her life, the most afraid, and oddly, the most free. The noonday sun blazed overhead, and she had to move to the shoulder of the road to avoid melting the rubber of her shoes on the pavement.

  When she finally made it into town, she stopped at the first building, the Feed and Seed. She would’ve collapsed on the bench outside, but the siren call of air conditioning pushed her to venture inside. She found a water fountain and nearly drank it dry then smoothed out her hair as best she could.

  She could’ve left, probably should have, but the cool air and shade was beyond welcoming. Across the store, she saw Mr. Reese, the owner, through the window of his office. An idea suddenly came over her, and she beat her beat feet across the tile to knock on his door.

  He turned in his chair to spy her out the window and looked surprised.

  She supposed she had looked better.

  He opened the door and frowned at her. “Oh, Cassidy,” he said. “I told you that you didn’t have to pay for the mess. There was no real damage.”

  “No,” she said then cleared her throat. “That’s not why I’m here. I…Mr. Reese, I’d like a job.”

  The old man looked so surprised that Cassidy was worried he might have a cardiac episode. “A…a job?” he repeated, as though it were a foreign language. She was sure the idea was foreign to him—Cassidy Conroy actually working.

  “I need a job, Mr. Reese. A cashier, maybe, or I could…stock shelves.” She wasn’t sure what other jobs there might be at a place like this, but she was prepared to do any of them, all of them, whatever it took.

  “Well, I…” he said, looking around as though he needed someone to help him. “I don’t…come in, come in.”

  In the office, she sat down in a hard chair, and he sat in the one behind the desk. “A job?” he repeated, completely bewildered.

  “I’ll work hard,” she told him.

  “Oh, I’m sure you would,” he replied, though the look on his face told her he didn’t think any such thing.

  “You won’t regret hiring me, Mr. Reese. I can promise you. I’m good with people. I won’t let you down, I swear.”

  Mr. Reese was obviously torn being between being the man who hired Cassidy Conroy and being the man who turned her down. Clearly, his sense of chivalry and diplomacy won out, and he nodded. “I…I’m sure we can find something for you.”

  “I’m good at math,” she blurted out.

  He started to raise an eyebrow at her before he caught himself.

  “No, really, Mr. Reese. I’m really good at math.”

  “Well…then…” he said, drawing out his words as though he thought something, something, might happen, like Cassidy changing her mind, or a freak tornado hitting the building, anything that would save him. But nothing did.

  Cassidy kept smiling, secretly praying, outwardly smiling.

  “Cashier it is, then, I suppose,” Mr. Reese said finally.

  “Thank you!” she gasped, grabbing his wrinkled hand and shaking it firmly. “Thank you so much!”

  He nodded and stood, so she did as well. Pain shot through her feet, and she bit her lower lip. Cassidy looked down at the destroyed rubber sole of her left shoe and grimaced. Then she looked up at her brand-new boss. She didn’t want to press her luck, but she really was in a bit of a bind. “Mr. Reese,” she said, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice. “I know you probably don’t do this, but…could I…have an advance? On a new pair of boots?”

  He followed her gaze to the finished-off footwear and clucked. “Oh, dear. Well, now,” he said, “I think that would be okay.”

  Out on the sales floor, she pulled the cheapest pair off the shelf so as not to take advantage of his kindness and slipped into the bathroom with a box of Band-Aids from the office’s first aid kit. She slapped them all over her blisters and then pulled on the boots. They fit great, and they didn’t look half bad. She stepped down on the heel and winced, though. It’d be a few days before they were really comfortable.

  She pulled open the bathroom door and almost ran into someone just as they were coming in. “Oh! I’m sorry!” It took a full second to realize who she’d nearly plowed over, and Cassidy had to stifle a groan.

  “Cassidy!” exclaimed Rowan.

  “I…sorry…” Cassidy mumbled. “I’ll get out of your way.” She tried to step around the woman, but Rowan moved in front of her.

  “No, don’t go.”

  “Mama!” cried Willow. “I have to go!”

  “Okay, go on, honey. Go on. I’ll wait.”

  Willow scurried past Cassidy, giving her a smile, and dashed toward the stall, slamming the door closed with a metallic bang.

  “Oh, Cassidy,” said Rowan, reaching up to touch Cassidy’s face.

  Unwilling to be poked and prodded any more, Cassidy pulled her head out of the woman’s reach. “Just an accident,” she said.

  “Cassidy.”

  “It’s fine. Really.”

  “Cassidy, this isn’t right. You have to—”

  “It really is fine, Rowan. I…I’m never going back there, to my dad’s house. Never.”

  Rowan’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  Cassidy shook her head. “Really. I left. I even gave him back my Mercedes. I’m done. I have a job now and a place to live, and I’m going to be fine. This is never going to happen again. Anyway,” she said awkwardly, glancing at her watch for emphasis. “I’m off work now, so I should probably go.”

  “Do you want a ride somewhere? I mean, if you don’t have your car,” Rowan asked.

  Cassidy smiled but shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m just going to the Rose.”

  “The Dusty Rose?” Rowan looked horrified.

  “It’s just a few blocks. It’s no big deal. Good night, Rowan.”

  Cassidy turned and headed out the front doors of the Feed and Seed. She started down the sidewalk, past the salon, which was thankfully closed, so the Housewives couldn’t point and stare as she passed. Holding her head high, she hobbled toward the motel. Her feet hurt like hell, and she was certain the Band-Aids inside her boots were already starting to
slip as she walked. But she’d made it this far—from Conroy Cattle all the way into Star Valley. Dakota’s old tennis shoes wouldn’t have carried her all the way to this point, but her boots were brand new and fit her feet better than any pair of heels. She could make it two blocks to The Dusty Rose on her own.

  Cassidy Conroy’s brand-new boots were made for walking.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

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  SAWYER COULDN’T TELL whose grunts were getting more annoying, Court’s or his own. Austin preferred to steer clear of them entirely—digging ditches, apparently, was more appealing. When Gabe finally showed up, the Führer of the Folly finally pointed a finger at them. “Get out,” Austin demanded.

  Sawyer gaped at him.

  “I mean it. Get off my mountain. The two of you are the most depressing set of Wonder NotTwins I’ve ever seen. Get out of here, both of you.” He pointed to the round pen. “You and the horses you rode in on.”

  Since Gabe had already arrived and Seth would be here the following day, there didn’t seem to be much point in arguing with the man. Silently, he packed up his things and saddled Cash. The ride back to Snake River was blissfully devoid of grunting, or any kind of communication at all.

  It seemed that, one by one, the Barlows were being knocked down like dominoes, in order, to boot. First Court, then Sawyer. Hopefully Seth wouldn’t befall any specific disaster, seeing as how he was newly married with a baby on the way.

  The sun was almost fully down below the horizon when they crested the last hill. In the last moments of twilight, Court and Sawyer saw Rowan and Dakota standing in the driveway. The two women looked as though they were arguing, or at least talking animatedly. Sawyer couldn’t imagine what they’d have to fight about. Both women barely knew each other. Before he could say anything to Court about it, Court kicked BlackJack into a full gallop, and Sawyer, though he didn’t want to, followed on Cash.

  By the time they reached the perimeter fence, Dakota was already in her truck and headed toward the road. Rowan looked surprised to see her ex bearing down on her in a fury and snatched up Willow as BlackJack came to a screeching halt right in front of the woman and the girl. It was a bit showy, Sawyer thought, and Rowan looked irritated. But she’d been a former barrel racer herself, and she knew that BlackJack could stop on a dime.