by Dahlia West
“Gloves, hermana,” Gabe reminded her from the back of his own horse, but Dakota paid him no mind.
Seth watched as she slowly herded the mare into the nearby round pen by waving the coiled rope at her hip.
“She’s gonna tear up her hands one of these days,” Gabe muttered. “All these wild horses.” He shook his head and glared at Seth, like it was his fault.
Seth merely shrugged. There was no telling Dakota Vasquez what to do, and it seemed obvious that by now Gabe would’ve come to terms with the fact that there was no wrangling his baby sister. She was as free-spirited as the horses she caught and tamed, a Wyoming Wild Woman if there ever was one.
Seth might have made a play for her at one time, if circumstances were different, but his family was more important to him. The fact that they’d grown up together was no hindrance, in Seth’s mind. The Vasquezes and the Barlows were close, but everyone remained keenly aware that they were not, in fact, related.
The Vasquez family had been on this land as long as the Barlows. It was as much theirs by sheer blood, sweat, and tears. It was a mere formality that their name didn’t appear on the deed. Guillermo Vasquez had tried ranching in the 1920s, couldn’t make it work, and sold out to Goodman Barlow for pennies per acre so he could add it to the already huge Snake River Ranch. The sale price hadn’t been half what the land was actually worth.
Apparently the name Goodman had been an exercise in irony.
Dad had always planned to right the wrong. In fact, he’d left Manny the Vasquez land in his will, not knowing that his foreman would die on the same day.
Seth supposed the land now passed to Gabe and his mother, Sofia. He wondered what they would do with it, but it wasn’t his place to ask.
Walker wouldn’t fight the will, not in a million years. It would be hard losing any small chunk of their spread in these difficult times, when they needed to hold onto every dime, every penny, but cheating the Vasquez family out of what should have been rightfully theirs wasn’t the way to save themselves.
It was bad enough that Manny had died so unexpectedly, leaving his wife, his son, and his daughter to go on without him. There was no way Walker would add to their pain. In fact, Seth knew without a doubt in his mind that if Walker could cut off his own arm, or kill himself outright, to bring back Manny Vasquez, Seth would’ve buried two family members after the blizzard, rather than just the one.
“Just pack up,” Seth advised Gabe. “You, Walker, and Austin are taking the first camp this week.”
Gabe nodded, walked away from the foreman’s shack, and headed to the bunkhouse.
Seth walked Choctaw into the horse barn and let him into his stall. They were roomy and well built and could house far more horses than they actually had. On the far side, out of sight but not earshot, were Dakota’s wildlings, a small collection of mares and studs she’d culled from the mustang herds over the last two or three years.
Dad had indulged her interest in horses. Dakota might as well have been his niece, for as close as Dad and Manny had been, and Dad had spoiled her rotten. He had allowed her to round up and keep the seemingly ragtag bunch of stallions and mares that caught her eye. He’d even let her take over the buying and selling of the ranch horses, choosing for the family what stock they’d use.
She’d successfully bred three mustang-quarter horse crosses and trained them herself. They were good horses, hard workers with strength and speed. The Barlow boys had had their own mounts for several years now, so they weren’t inclined to give up Choctaw, Nero, BlackJack, and the rest just yet, but Dakota’s hobby allowed the Barlows’ beloved horses to get much-needed breaks throughout the year, alleviating fatigue and preventing injuries.
Her actual job was caring for the horses and overseeing the maintenance on the barn that housed them. Dakota preferred horses to cows but she could run a herd if she had to, not that Dad would ever let her, really—or Walker for that matter. Over the years, she’d followed them out on the trail, though, making camp with them sometimes. She’d prepared a few meals for them on the open range, having learned from her mother, Sofia, the official ranch cook, but Dakota was a better horsewoman than a chef.
These days, though, she was less on the range and more often locked in her tiny office in the horse barn. God knew what she did in there. It was a flurry of stacked papers written in hieroglyphics that no one else could decipher. It was best, they’d decided, to just leave her alone.
Seth removed Choctaw’s cinch and saddle, revealing the horse’s sweat-soaked back and saddle pad. He hoisted the rig onto the wooden rack just outside the stall door, hung the pad up to dry, and rubbed the stallion down thoroughly using currycomb, stiff then soft brushes. Walker and Austin always left their horses for Dakota to care for, but Seth preferred to do it himself. He’d had Choctaw for going on nine years now, and some days the horse seemed like his closest friend.
“It was a good ride,” he said, placing a blanket over Choctaw. The horse nickered as Seth buckled it around his chest.
Hay and grain doled out, Seth closed the stall gate firmly and followed the voices he heard down the corridor, toward the small indoor riding ring. There, he found Sawyer and Court, arguing.
“I thought it would help!” Sawyer was insisting as Seth rounded the corner and his two younger brothers came into view.
“Oh, eat shit!” Court snapped.
Both men turned to look at him—one glaring, one laughing. “I couldn’t find a turtle this early in spring!” Sawyer called out, gesturing to a hay bale a few feet away. He’d swiped the set of longhorns from above the barn door and tied them to the bale, so that it looked like a rectangular green cow…with no legs. Seth took in the scene and was unable to suppress a sudden snort.
Sawyer turned back to Court. “You had so much trouble snaring that little mare. I thought you could use the practice. I think this is slow enough for you.”
Court spit at the bullshit bovine and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I ride ’em,” he countered. “I don’t rope ’em.” It was true. Court was better at bronc busting and bull riding than he’d ever been at roping. Sawyer needed a partner, though, for the rodeo, so Court played his part in their team-roping duo as best he could.
Sawyer laughed and slapped his thigh. “Are you talking about mares…or women?”
Court’s scowl up-ticked to a smile. “Both,” he said proudly. Also true. Court Barlow was a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy.
Sawyer turned to Seth and jerked his thumb at Court. “Our brother. The Rodeo Romeo. Last year, he—”
Court’s features pinched again. “No one wants to hear about the rodeo.”
Seth supposed they could thank Walker, at least partially, for Court’s perpetual foul mood. Seth himself didn’t begrudge Court for leaving home, or Sawyer for following him. Seth had missed them, sure, but those had been easier times, when Manny oversaw half a dozen ranch hands and the bunk house was full. They were all gone now, let go one by one as the proverbial belt was tightened. Dakota took some of the load off now that she was done with school and could work full time.
Seth suspected that Sawyer and Court had never returned before because Dad had been too proud to ask. They’d always promised to come home, when they were too old to compete. Seth had believed them.
But having to cut their careers short must have been hard. Maybe not much for Sawyer, who rarely talked about his own success. Unlike Court, Sawyer’s hat fit his own head, so to speak. Seth knew Court’s ego was a little bruised and he did feel a bit sorry for his little brother as he turned to walk away.
“You really should practice,” Sawyer declared, more somberly this time.
“Later,” Court muttered.
“Then let’s go out,” Sawyer decided, slinging an arm around Court. He looked at Seth. “Will you come? While the others are out making camp?”
Seth was a little tired for drinking and dancing, but what the hell, it had been a rough several weeks, and he could use a stiff dr
ink and a flexible female to drag around the dance floor for a few turns. “All right,” he agreed.
The three of them headed out of the barn. Sawyer and Court were about to head into the bunkhouse, when the front door of the Big House burst open. Walker stomped outside with Austin hot on his heels.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore!” Walker said, his large steel-toed boots clomping across the wooden floor of the porch.
“We haven’t talked about it at all!” Austin replied.
Sawyer, Seth, and Court edged closer to the Big House to see what was going on.
“I wouldn’t take it out of the farm account!” Austin was shouting as the trio drew near.
If that was supposed to placate Walker, it had exactly the opposite effect. His features went from icy to molten in an instant. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper. Seth had to strain to be sure he heard him right.
“Don’t say it.”
Seth didn’t know what they were fighting about, but he could tell that Austin had gone one step too far. But Austin either didn’t understand that the thin ice that he was treading on was about to give way under a sudden blast of heated rage, or maybe he just didn’t care. Either way, he threw up his hands. “We have the money, Walker! And if you’d just let me take some and—”
“Don’t you dare!” Walker growled.
“Well, it’s not just yours, you know!” Austin shot back.
And that was the final straw, the red flag waved at the six-foot-six, 225-pound bull. “No one is touching that insurance money! Not even me!” Walker bellowed as he charged at Austin. He caught his twin brother around the waist, and they both flew off the steps of the front porch.
They landed with a crunch in the slush, neither of them pausing in their punches to even really notice they were getting soaked to the bone. Walker caught Austin with a crushing blow to the ribs. Austin, who was possibly more like his twin than he wanted to admit, was a vicious, capable fighter as well. He hit Walker in the jaw and sent him sprawling, at least enough to scramble to his feet. Both men circled each other now, swinging and retreating, bobbing and weaving as they traded blows like prizefighters.
They didn’t fight often. Seth could maybe count on one hand the times that things ever got more serious than the occasional shove or half-hearted punch. Mostly Walker and Austin just stayed away from each other if things got too heated.
Someone else shouted, and everyone turned to see Dakota racing from the round pen, new mare abandoned, in favor of breaking up the fisticuffs. She arrived at the group breathless and angry. She threw herself between Walker and Austin, mostly at Austin, eyeing his rapidly swelling lip. She glanced over her shoulder and glared at Walker. “What the hell are you doing?!”
Walker scowled at her.
Dakota was the only person who could yell at Walker that way and not get a fat lip out of the deal. He stared down at the two of them, hands clenching and unclenching into fists. Seth wasn’t sure what was bothering Walker more, the fact that he and Austin had come to blows over Dad’s insurance money for some reason, or that Dakota had apparently taken Austin’s side and was now pressed tightly against him, protecting the younger twin from the older.
Walker snorted and picked his hat up off the frozen ground, swiping it on his wet jeans. It seemed to be the theme for the day. “The two of you,” he growled while shaking his head, as though they were always together, somehow conspiring against him.
Seth didn’t understand it and wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Walker slammed his crushed hat down on his head and tweaked the brim for good measure as he shot Austin a cold, hard look. “No one’s touching that money.” Before anyone could respond, he turned and stormed back into the house.
Seth picked up Austin’s hat and handed it to him. “Do you want me to stay?” he offered. “I can make camp this week, if you’d rather not go.”
Austin practically ripped the hat from Seth’s hand, but Seth understood who he was really mad at. “Hell no. He’s not going to run me off just by being a bullheaded ass.”
Seth nodded. He supposed it wasn’t really a surprise. Snake River came first, before everything, even family feuds.
“Are you okay?” Dakota asked. She still hadn’t let go of him.
Austin grinned at her and chucked her under the chin. “I’m fine, darling. You know how he is.”
Dakota sighed and rolled her eyes.
Seth studied them both, thinking maybe he was seeing things through Walker’s eyes. Dakota and Austin were getting closer…at the same time that Austin and Walker were drifting apart, it seemed. It was something to think about, anyway. Something to keep an eye on.
Austin and Dakota headed into the Big House, leaving Sawyer, Court, and Seth all staring at each other.
“What the hell was all that?” Sawyer asked Seth. “What does Austin need money for?”
Seth shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m not sure I want to find out.”
“Just Walker,” Court muttered. “Throwing his weight around.”
“We don’t know that,” Seth reminded him.
Court glared at him. “I do.”
“Who cares?” said Sawyer, clapping his hands together. “Let’s shit, shower, shave, and see if you can do any better at rustling up a few of these local fillies. I’ll lend you a reata if you need one.”
Court smirked. “I’ve had all the local fillies.”
Sawyer shrugged. “They’re new ones,” he pointed out, “that weren’t legal yet when we left.”
Court considered it for a moment before his face broke into a wide grin. “Yeah, all right.” To Seth, he said, “Let’s be ready in thirty minutes. You can be our designated driver.”
Seth watched them head back to the bunkhouse, wondering when he’d become the chaperone. Was he really that old? But his aching legs and back told him, yes, he certainly wasn’t as young as he used to be. He turned to the front door to get himself ready as well for a night on the town.
Chapter Six
‡
Rowan took the highway into town early the next morning and crept quietly into her father’s hospital room so as not to wake him. It didn’t work, though, and he stirred on the bed, as though he somehow had sensed her presence. Or maybe he just wasn’t sleeping. Hospitals weren’t exactly the most relaxing vacation spots.
He smiled and lifted a single finger in lieu of a wave. She grinned and squeezed his big toe. “How do you feel?” she asked. “Dizzy at all? Breathing okay?” She glanced at the output screen on the IV.
“You’re not on duty,” he told her, but it came out in a croak. His lips were cracked, she noticed, and his complexion was a little sallow. He looked older, too. And not just older, but old.
Living in Cheyenne, it was too easy to picture him younger, as though he never aged. Had he been this thin at Christmas? Rowan couldn’t recall. He seemed frail now. His beard had gone salt and pepper, and there were fine wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. His skin was papery. How much of that was dehydration? And how much was years’ worth of sun and wind damage from working outside?
Rowan didn’t want to think about her dad getting old.
“I let the sheep out,” she told him, checking his IV line to keep herself busy.
He sighed and leaned back into the pillow. “Thanks, Rowan. Sorry you had to mess with it. When I get home, I’ll get back on track. No worries.”
He tried to push himself up and failed the first few times.
Rowan’s hands itched to help him, but she knew better than to offer. He wouldn’t like the idea that he needed anyone’s assistance. He licked his lips, grimaced, then reached for the water cup that sat on the small rolling stand by the bedside.
Rowan held her breath again as she watched him out of the corner of her eye.
His hand flopped uselessly, as though he had been sapped of all his strength.
Finally, her worry over his condition won out over her reluctance to make him feel dependent. He
was dependent, after all, and they would both have to get used to that. She let the IV line fall and reached for the cup. She filled it for him and handed it over. She could tell by the clouded expression on his face that he was unhappy about it.
He was proud, she thought. And so incredibly stubborn. No doctors, no ambulances. Rowan supposed watching Mom waste away in a hospital bed just like this one hadn’t helped his opinion of the place. Part of her couldn’t blame him for lying in his own bed at home, trying to convince himself he was just overworked.
“I don’t think they’re going to release you before the end of next week,” she told him. “At the earliest.”
He scowled and shifted in his bed. “Guess I can call Wilbur Hines,” he mused, “to feed the flock.”
“I’ll do it,” Rowan told him while rubbing his hand gently. “It’s okay.”
He looked up at her doubtfully. “Well…” he said slowly. “You have your job.”
She forced a smile to her lips. “I have some vacation time saved up.” It was kind of true. She had a few days. Certainly not two weeks’ worth. She’d have to call Sandy and arrange a leave of absence, though her pocketbook would take a huge hit.
He took another sip of water, but it must have gone down wrong, because he started coughing, and a look of pure agony flashed across his face.
“Hang on!” Rowan cried, snatching the cup away and tossing it into the garbage can. She reached for the small, heart-shaped pillow on the bedside table. She pressed it to his chest firmly. “Grab it,” she ordered in her nurse’s voice.
He wrapped his arms around it and held it to his chest. It took a full five minutes for the fit to subside. By then he looked like he was on the verge of passing out from sheer exhaustion. How he thought he could run a sheep farm like this was unbelievable to Rowan.
Then again, Rowan told herself lies all the time, just to keep going.
