Wyoming Wild


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 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 ­[email protected]. 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.
 Visit us at shadowmountain.com
 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