Wyoming Wild, page 1
Other Proper Romances
by Sarah M. Eden
Ashes on the Moor
Hope Springs
Longing for Home
Longing for Home, vol. 2: Hope Springs
Savage Wells
The Sheriffs of Savage Wells
Healing Hearts
The Dread Penny Society
The Lady and the Highwayman
The Gentleman and the Thief
The Merchant and the Rogue
The Bachelor and the Bride
© 2023 Sarah M. Eden
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Shadow Mountain Publishing®, at permissions@shadowmountain.com. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Shadow Mountain Publishing.
This is a work of fiction. Characters and events in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously.
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Proper Romance is a registered trademark.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
CIP on file
ISBN 978-1-63993-092-0 | eISBN 978-1-64933-151-9 (eBook)
Printed in the United States of America
Lake Book Manufacturing, Inc., Melrose Park, IL
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Cover art: © Magdalena Russocka / Trevillion Images
Book design: © Shadow Mountain
Art direction: Richard Erickson
Design: Heather G. Ward
To the word “ain’t,”
which doesn’t usually get to appear in my writing
but, to my delight, peppered itself all over this story
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Acknowledgments
Discussion Questions
About the Author
Chapter 1
Wyoming Territory, 1876
Every day the Wild West grew a little less wild. At least in John Hawking’s corner of it. Hawk, as he was known, was the US Marshal in Wyoming and for small parts of the surrounding territories. He’d cleaned up the area, overseen the running of it, and made it safer for those who called it home. He was focused and determined, dedicated to his work, and, according to a saloon owner in Cheyenne, possessed a heart of stone. He’d thanked the man for that assessment and worn the label with pride ever since.
Soft hearts didn’t save lives.
He rode alongside two of his deputies, Ensio Cooper and Paisley O’Brien, into the town of Sunset, a tiny place not far from Laramie. Word had reached him that two men, wanted for a long string of bank robberies, had gone into hiding in this small hamlet. The lawbreakers in Wyoming Territory could do themselves a favor if they learned a simple truth: no one hid from Hawk for long.
“I have it on good authority that the criminal element hibernates in the winter,” Ensio said. “Seems to me we could avoid the misery of a cold-weather roundup if we remembered that.”
“You have it on Hawk’s authority that these two are in Sunset,” Paisley said.
“Hawk’s getting old. We have to wonder if he’s . . .” Ensio pulled a face meant to imply that Hawk had been dropped on his head a few times.
Hawk and his entire team of deputies knew Ensio well enough to take his ridiculousness in stride. He was a fine deputy, reliable in a pinch, and smart as a whip, which made his near-constant joking more endurable.
“Stop your bawling,” Hawk said. “It’s never too cold to clean up the territory.”
“Maybe not for the two of us, but Paisley, here, is riding in a dress. That’s gotta be one devil of a breeze.”
“And yet,” Paisley said, “I ain’t the one complaining.”
She was the only woman among Hawk’s deputies and, as far as he knew, the only woman “officially” part of the US Marshal’s program. He knew of a handful of ladies who acted in a law enforcement capacity, either by necessity or choice, and most of them received no credit for what they did.
“You don’t suppose these no-good bums would agree to be apprehended somewhere near a roaring fire and a pot of hot coffee?” Ensio wasn’t actually a featherweight; he just enjoyed talking more than any deputy marshal should.
“Bring ’em in,” Hawk said, “and I’m sure Sheriff Jones’ll give you all the coffee and blankets and bed warmers you could want. Might even invite you to stay permanently so you can round up criminals any time he needs you to.”
“I wouldn’t mind hanging my hat here.” Ensio adjusted his coat collar, keeping one hand on his horse’s reins. “Near enough to Laramie for a bit of a lark.”
“Hawk’s deputies don’t have larks,” Paisley said. “Or if they do, they don’t tell him about them.”
Hawk tended toward somberness when faced with a dangerous undertaking, but he smiled despite the looming mission ahead. “Are you calling me a tyrant?”
“Are you claiming you ain’t one?” Ensio tossed back. “The preacher’d have something to say about you casually tossing around a fib of that size.”
“Shut your flapper, Ensio,” Paisley said. “Hawk will knock your teeth out if you don’t.”
Ensio shook his head. “Hawk likes me. He’ll leave these pearlies right where they are.”
They kept their badges hidden beneath their coats as they rode into the outskirts of Sunset. No point tipping their hand. They hitched their horses down the boardwalk from the jail. Hawk had been in Sunset a few times during the previous sheriff’s time in charge. He knew the layout.
The walk toward the jail gave them time to study their surroundings, something he didn’t even have to tell his deputies to do. He recruited the best he could find, then improved on their training. His team ran as well as a fine-tuned watch. He wouldn’t abide anything less.
Sheriff Jones was watching for them. He ushered them in quickly, closing the door behind them.
“Marshal Hawking,” the sheriff greeted.
Hawk nodded. “Have you been keeping an eye on our criminals?”
Jones nodded. “They’re in the saloon. Went in about ten minutes ago and haven’t left.” He gave Hawk a wanted poster with the faces of two men sketched on it. “This is them.”
Hawk knew who they’d come for, and he’d studied their poster enough to be fully aware of what they looked like. He eyed his deputies. “Either of you need a reminder glance?”
They shook their heads. Neither was the type to have arrived unprepared. Hawk returned the poster. “Ensio, you go in now. Get the lay of the place. Badge hidden. Position yourself to cover any vulnerabilities. Jones and I will follow in a few minutes.”
Ensio gave a quick nod and sauntered out. He had the rough-and-tumble look of the West and a knack for assuming whatever demeanor suited the situation, blending in as easily on a cattle ranch as he did in a seedy watering hole.
Hawk turned to Paisley. “Did you spy a good lookout spot? You’ll need an unimpeded view of the front of the saloon. Ensio won’t let them escape out the back.”
“If you don’t let them escape out the front, I’ll have a nice leisurely afternoon.”
“You ain’t as much a fan of leisure as you’re making yourself out to be.” Hawk re-pinned his badge on his chest where it would be visible. Unlike Ensio, he needed his authority to be known the minute he walked into the saloon with the sheriff.
Jones stepped up directly beside him and lowered his voice. “You’ve brought a woman?”
“That woman is a Deputy US Marshal,” he said. “And she can outshoot Cade O’Brien.”
Jones’s mouth dropped open. “No one outshoots Cade O’Brien. The man’s a legend.”
“I’ve seen her do it,” Hawk said. “She’s here as our sharpshooter. If you don’t want her help because she’s female, I’ll fetch my other deputy, and we’ll be on our way.”
Jones shook his head quickly, a bit of worry entering his eyes. “I ain’t complaining, only surprised.”
Paisley took it in stride; it certainly wasn’t the first time this had happened. She slipped the strap of her Springfield rifle off her shoulder and flipped open the trapdoor breechblock, checking to make certain her weapon was properly loaded. She had it closed up again and slung back in place in a flash.
“I’ll assume my position,” she said. “Consider the front of the saloon secured.” She nodded to Hawk and slipped out.
Hawk leaned his shoulder against the front window frame, eyeing the street beyond. It was quiet. That would help.
“Should we be heading to the saloon?” Jones asked.
“Patience, Jones. Most of a battle’s won or lost before it starts.”
Hawk watched Paisley casually cross the wide street, unlikely to draw much attention even with her gun slung across her back. She positioned herself against a porch post across the street from the saloon. An excellent spot for her role in all this. Ensio should be in place by now as well, with a full understanding of the situation inside.
Jones needed to calm himself a bit, so Hawk chose to wait a few extra minutes. The man wasn’t a bad sheriff, but he was inexperienced.
“How soon until you hire a deputy?” Hawk asked. “You’re too close to Laramie for the law in this town to be lax.”
“I have a couple of people in mind.”
“After we get the ruffians locked up, tell me who your candidates are. We’ll have it sorted before I go.” He wasn’t about to leave while Sunset was a liability. His territory would be safe. It was his most specific and unwavering goal. A man didn’t dedicate himself to a cause unless he was willing to put in all his effort.
Hawk adjusted his gun belt, making certain his matching pistols sat in the optimum spot for drawing quickly and accurately. “We’ll walk into the saloon together, but with you one step ahead of me. This town needs to see that their sheriff demands attention and exudes authority. My team and I need to look like the helpers not the doers.”
“I’m not incompetent,” Jones insisted.
“I know you ain’t. You’re just outgunned.”
The sheriff gave a quick nod of acknowledgment. “But not for long.”
“Let’s do this.” Hawk pointed him out the door.
They walked down the boardwalk. Hawk kept only the smallest bit behind Jones. A show of solidarity would go far.
The sun was blazing, but the air was cold. Winter would be on them soon enough. In another six weeks, give or take a few, the snow would be permanent until spring. It would make their job more difficult; Ensio was right on that score.
The familiar twank of a poorly tuned piano floated out through the saloon’s swinging doors—the siren song of drinking establishments in the West. Hawk’s work took him to enough that he knew the sounds and smells of them well.
Jones threw open the doors and walked inside without hesitation, head high, shoulders squared. The man’s courage was impressive and reassuring. He’d do fine once he had the help he needed.
A hush fell over the saloon, the piano ending on a clash of notes. All eyes turned to them. Hawk moved to stand beside Jones, presenting a unified front. He swept open his coat to reveal his six-shooters and offer an even better view of his US Marshal’s badge.
“Rod Carlisle. Hepp Minor,” Jones said. “You’re coming with us.”
The two men, bearing a close resemblance to the images on the wanted poster, sat beside each other at a nearby table. They both rose, eyes on Hawk and Jones.
“Marshal Hawking.” Hawk introduced himself with an upward twitch of his chin. “You’ve likely heard of me, which means you know I’d still outdraw you on my deathbed. So, come peaceably.”
“I ain’t going to jail,” Hepp said.
“Jail or the graveyard,” Jones tossed back. “You can pick.”
The other occupants of the saloon backed swiftly away, clear of what might soon be flying bullets.
“There are two of us and two of you,” Hepp said. “Not bad odds.”
“Correction, chum,” Ensio said, flipping his coat back to flash his badge. “There are three of us.”
“And more outside,” Hawk added. “Trust me, compadre, the odds ain’t in your favor at all. And, personally, I prefer you take the graveyard option. Keeps life interesting. Well, my life, anyway.”
Rod eyed his partner, then the three law officers. “We choose jail.” He spoke firmly, calmly, no hint of apprehension. “It’s not a bad option.”
Hawk nodded. Rod, then, was the leader of the duo, while Hepp was the hothead. Both would bear watching.
No matter that he’d said otherwise, Hawk preferred bringing people in without bloodshed. But the smugness in Rod’s face and tone didn’t sit well. A man surrounded by lawmen and facing the noose wouldn’t look that content if he didn’t have something up his sleeve.
“Weapons on the table,” Jones said. “Then back away with your hands on your heads.”
“And remember, you’ve one gun already drawn and aimed at your backs,” Hawk said. “And you’re about to have one at your front as well. No sudden moves, no tricks.”
They complied, and Jones and Ensio had the men firmly in hand a moment later. Hawk gathered the bank robbers’ six-shooters and followed them all out of the saloon.
“We’ve a sharpshooter trained on the both of you,” Jones warned. “Best shot in the West, I’m told. You’d do well not to test that, as learning the answer would be fatal.”
The miscreants were dragged back to the jail and tossed behind bars. An easier feat than Hawk had expected. Far too easy, in fact. Rod looked pleased as a skunk in moonlight. Hepp grumbled a great deal but had made no attempt at resistance. These men hadn’t been peaceable during their robberies. That they’d simply turn themselves over didn’t make any sense.
“Ensio, you stay here in Sunset until these louts get dragged to Laramie,” Hawk said. “They look about as disappointed as a flea in a doghouse.”
He nodded. “They are a touch too comfortable with it all.”
Hawk took a seat near the potbelly stove across the room. Jones sat at a desk nearby. With Ensio at the front window and Paisley still patrolling the street, things were likely to remain calm for a while.
“Tell me about your candidates for deputy sheriff.” Hawk spoke to Jones but never stopped studying the prisoners. They were entirely at their ease in that cell.
Jones told him of two different men in town. Both seemed qualified and, he said, had expressed some interest in the position.
“Does the town have money enough for two deputies?”
“Might. Might.”
“See if you can hire them both,” Hawk said. “If not, pick the one you work best with, the one you’d trust most to have your back in a tight situation. Good with a gun, gritty, and fast on his feet are only part of the qualifications for the job. You have to work effortlessly with each other. And you have to trust each other entirely. If you don’t, the whole thing falls apart.”
“Is that your secret to keeping this territory together, Marshal?” Jones asked. “I’d say you’re doing a shockingly good job of it.”
“I don’t abide yellowbellies, double-crossers, or second-guessers. A flawless network of deputies and sheriffs, anyone involved in keeping the peace, is the only thing that’ll keep order out West. Otherwise, it’s lawlessness and anarchy.”
Across the room, Rod laughed low.
“You findin’ something amusing, there, prisoner?” Hawk asked.
“You don’t know your ‘flawless network’ as well as you think you do, Marshal.”
Hawk sat up straighter, eyeing the man. He looked as sincere as he did amused. “You’ve spied a weak link in my chain?”
“A sheriff who’s a . . . Well, let’s just say he’s a good friend of my flawless network.”
That had Ensio’s attention as well.
“What sheriff?” Hawk asked.
Rod smiled crookedly. “I ain’t a snitch.”
“You’d be amazed how many jailbirds sing when they’re eyeing a noose,” Hawk observed dryly.
Rod kept his mouth shut after that, refusing to say a word. Hepp’s comments were limited to his certainty he would have come out champion in the gun battle Rod had denied him.
As Jones made final preparations to hire his deputies and Ensio saw himself settled for his extended stay, Hawk mulled over Rod’s words. A sheriff Hawk didn’t know well. One who put the lie to his insistence the territory was well managed. A liability. A weak link.
As he and Paisley rode from Sunset, heading in the general direction of Savage Wells, the town they both called home, he couldn’t shake the blaring of intuition in his brain. “Have you heard whispers of any inept or corrupt sheriffs?”
