ROWAN: Firebrand Cowboys (Texas Firebrand Book 14), page 1
Rowan: Firebrand Cowboys
Barb Han
TorJake Publishing
Copyright © 2023 by Barb Han
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editing: Ali Williams
Cover Design: Jacob’s Cover Designs
Proofreading: Judicious Revisions
To Brandon, Jacob, and Tori for being the great loves of my life. To Babe for being my hero, my best friend, and my place to call home.
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
Also by Barb Han
About the Author
1
Rowan Firebrand’s world wasn’t going to hell in a handbasket. No. A handbasket would be far too smooth a ride. A handbasket would be way too slow. His world was going to hell in a racecar at a hundred-and-thirty-miles-per-hour while careening out of control. There were no bumpers or hay bales strong enough to keep this hot mess from flying off the track and diving headfirst into the fire.
A chill in the late-February air reminded Rowan that he was in Colorado, not Texas. The Rio Grande National Forest, with its millions of acres, was far enough away from anyone or anything named Firebrand. This solo trip was his best chance to recalibrate and, maybe, find a little peace. Between his mother being in the hospital after surviving a jail fight—don’t get him started on how messed up that sounded even to him—and all the other drama surrounding his family and the cattle ranch, he’d needed to get the heck out of Dodge in a manner of speaking. It was impossible to think clearly back home. A change of pace was needed or he would lose his mind.
At one point did life get so messed up?
Rowan glanced up at the gathering clouds, figured he had an hour, maybe two before the weather would turn ugly. It would be nice to have his camping spot set up by the time it hit, but that wasn’t likely at this rate. After checking in with his brother Nick, he’d powered down his cell to save battery. Rowan had no idea how long he would be staying in the forest. He had enough food and supplies to last a week, more if he rationed. Plus, he could always hunt or fish when needed.
The trail ahead was uphill and rocky, but well worn. There would be no trouble navigating the path as long as visibility was good. February in Colorado could bring whiteouts, making it impossible to see your hand extended out in front of you.
Not a hundred feet in, a young couple approached as they headed down the hill and toward the parking lot. The young woman’s hair was in two long braids. She had on khaki pants, a sweater, and hiking boots that looked too new to have been worn often. The young man had on a camo-colored bucket hat with drawstring, camo-colored cargo pants, and two layers of t-shirts. Neither wore coats despite having on scarves and gloves. They looked like locals who hiked these trails when the sun was out.
“Hey,” Camo Guy said as they neared each other. “You’re headed the wrong direction.”
“How is it up there?” Rowan asked, making polite conversation. He could no longer see the snow-covered mountain tops due to thick evergreen foliage along the winding path.
“Getting colder by the minute,” Camo Guy said. His girlfriend—wife?—gave a knowing smile. “It’s supposed to get bad later.”
“Radar said there’s a chance it might blow north of here,” Rowan said as the winds picked up. A gust blasted him in the chest like a boxer might throw a punch. He zipped up his jacket in response.
“Let’s hope for your sake,” the good-natured Camo Guy said. He was roughly five-feet-ten-inches with a runner’s build. “But the weather isn’t the only problem.”
“How so?” Rowan asked.
“Hungry black bears have been spotted,” Camo Guy said. “There’s a problem bear.”
“I’ll be sure to hang my food away from my camp and keep watch,” Rowan said. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“You sure you don’t want to make a U-turn?” Camo Guy asked with a chuckle. “Might get a little rough up there. You’d hate to get stranded if we get the worst of it.”
Based on his demeanor, he probably assessed Rowan as a decent-enough person who might have a screw loose for camping as a snow storm loomed.
“I’ll be fine,” Rowan reassured. “Do this all the time. Mother Nature hasn’t taken me yet.”
“Cool,” Camo Guy said as he reached back for his wife or girlfriend’s hand before passing by. He turned his head to the side. “Stay warm up there, and stay away from those bears.”
“Will do,” Rowan said before continuing the trek up the mountain. A couple holding a kid’s hand passed by next, their German shepherd moving in a circle around the small family. They smiled and nodded as they went by. The German shepherd kept a wary eye on Rowan. He also took notice the dog positioned himself in between Rowan and the cherub-faced kid, who looked to be no more than three or four years old.
“Mommy, why can he stay?” the little blond boy asked when they got a few feet down the base.
“He probably forgot something up there and will be right down as soon as he finds it,” the mother explained. “Everyone has to leave when the weather gets bad or risk turning into a Popsicle.”
The little boy laughed.
Rowan was looking for something alright. Peace of mind. But he didn’t figure this was the time to shout out his problems to strangers, no matter how tempting it was. How fast would folks run away from him the second they found out his mother had been in a jail fight? Being able to walk around without anyone knowing who he was or anything about his family was the change he needed. In Lone Star Pass, folks either stared or shot him a look of pity. He couldn’t decide which was more annoying and didn’t stick around to find it out.
Another group, this time five shivering teenagers, came racing down.
“Sorry,” one of them yelled as he blasted past. Rowan remembered times like those with a few of his brothers or cousins. Coming from a family of nine boys, with nine male cousins, gave him more than his fair share of built-in playmates and adversaries. With recent events, the family was divided again after working hard to mend fences. There’d been more drama than any one family should have to contend with for much of his life. Thus, in part, the reason for this escape. Rowan wasn’t running from the responsibility of taking care of cattle or running the ranch. He didn’t need a break from calving—despite this being the prime season. He needed a break from the people. He needed time to figure out if living at Firebrand Ranch was right for him or if it was time to take the offer to move to Fort Worth and open a feed store with one of his buddies. Benny, who’d medically boarded out of the military, had made a compelling argument that it was time for a change of pace. A runner since they’d been kids, he needed to figure out how to navigate life with one leg now. His friend had read about Jackie Firebrand’s arrest, and it struck him that Rowan might need a fresh start too. Or so he’d said in the voicemail he’d left, that Rowan had yet to respond to.
In the middle of all the chaos of the ranch, Rowan couldn’t think clearly. Running a business was never easy. He knew the realities better than most. There’d be early mornings working the store and late nights doing the books. At first, he and Benny would have to do the lion’s share of the work themselves. Rowan had family money but refused to use it. That money felt tainted since it was inherited from his grandfather, the Marshall, a man who’d spent his life dividing his sons and pitting them against each other. There were reasons behind his actions the family recently learned about. Some of the others might be able to forgive the Marshall but Rowan wasn’t there yet. He may never be, which was part of the reason he was shivering his backside off right now as the wind picked up.
The higher Rowan climbed, the lower the temperature dropped. It was to be expected out here, given how altitude worked, but these dips were more extreme as the weather front blew in. He had no idea what was in store. Being prepared was key. Folks had climbed Mount Everest with the same quality of gear he had in his rucksack and survived.
The folks he’d seen coming down the mountain so far were what he would call the REI set. All their equipment was clean, matching, and brand new. Heck, if he looked closely enough he might even catch a glimpse of a tag or two still attached. If the burly mountain-looking types with their canine companions that looked more like wolves headed down, he’d worry.
Hungry bears were nothing to take lightly, though. He knew to take precautions there. Bear attacks in Colorado were on the rise. Rarely, they were fatal and he intended to keep it that way. A healthy respect for invading wildlife’s territory had kept him alive for thirty-three years now. He planned to keep the streak going. A desperate bear could do a lot of damage to a person.
After hiking just shy of two hours, Rowan heard the sounds of rushing water as snow started to fall. Camping near a creek or stream would make tonight a lot easier and he needed to set up camp before the storm worsened and darkness made it impossible to see.
Staking a spot around the bend from a water source seemed like a good place. He shrugged off the rucksack before building a fire using the flint he always carried, along with tinder he’d gathered. As soon as he had a decent flame, he rubbed his cold hands together to warm them before getting to work on staking his one-person tent. Technically, he could fit two inside but they’d have to be mighty close. Not that it mattered. He traveled solo on this and many other trips and wouldn’t have it any other way.
Sitting back on his heels next to the fire, he broke open a food packet of fettuccine alfredo with chicken. After gathering water in a tin cup and then boiling it over the fire, he added water to the packet. And—voila!—had a decent two-portion meal. Rowan ate both. The warmth felt good on his throat. He managed a cup of instant coffee to finish off dinner as the snow came down faster. It was late by the time he snuffed out the fire and then climbed inside his tent.
Winds whipped but the stakes held. The tent’s profile was low, built for these kinds of conditions. He toed off his boots before kicking them to the side, shrugged out of his jacket, and then climbed inside his sleeping bag. It alone would be enough to keep him warm without the tent, so the double insulation kept him downright toasty. Before zipping up and cocooning inside his Western Mountaineering Kodiak, he slipped out of his jeans and flannel shirt, leaving on his boxers, socks, and undershirt. Next to his boots, he kept a Coleman lantern and a hunting knife along with his rucksack.
Having worked thirty-six hours straight at the ranch before traveling west, he was beyond tired. Rowan bit back a yawn, turned on his side, and closed his eyes.
The sounds of splashing opened his eyes up again. Instinctively, he reached for the knife, hoping it was nothing more than his imagination or a bad dream.
He listened as the winds howled.
More splashing and an audible gasp. Or was it a bear snorting?
Rowan bit back a curse as he opened the zipper all the way and then reached for his pair of jeans. He managed to slide into them quietly as he kept his ear to the ground. Either way, he was going to have to investigate.
When he heard more splashing, he hurried up. The bear, or whatever was out there, might keep moving and not ever realize he was there. He couldn’t leave this one to chance, so he unzipped enough of the tent to ease out without making any noise. He toed on his boots as he one-hopped, trying to get into them while holding on to the blade and buttoning his jeans.
He heard twigs snap underneath his boots. So much for being stealthy. Being careless could get him killed.
The noise he made could scare off a bear. After all, they tended to head the opposite direction rather than come into contact with a human. Unless they were provoked or hungry. Knowing campers were having trouble with one in this area wasn’t the news he’d wanted to hear.
Rowan headed toward the sound, easing behind tree after tree for cover. The wind might have calmed down a little but the air was biting. His teeth started chattering as he zigzagged through the trees. He eased his way toward the creek until he could get a visual.
The sight froze him in his tracks. What on earth was a woman doing out here this late, looking like she was scrubbing her arms while bent over in thigh-deep water?
Tara Dowling saw movement out of the corner of her eye. It was ever-so-slight but something or someone was over behind a tree across the creek’s bank. Her pulse raced and her heart thundered inside her chest. Had he found her? It was impossible. There was no way.
Teeth chattering, body shivering from cold, she bolted like a frightened deer with a hunter on its tail. She was too far away to get a good look at whatever was there—and beyond exhausted—but adrenaline kicked in, giving her almost superhuman speed as she raced through the trees.
She’d wanted to follow the water down to a town where she could find warmth and shelter for the night. How long had she been wandering in the forest? Half-dazed, still in shock, her flight instincts were on autopilot. The cold air blasted her skin as the temps must have dropped thirty degrees in a matter of hours.
Food. She needed something to eat before she starved.
Shelter. She needed a roof over her head.
Water. She needed to rehydrate.
Glancing down at her arms, she saw blood. His blood. Oh, man, how she’d needed to get that off her clothing and her skin. Speaking of clothing, her jeans and sweater weren’t nearly warm enough to combat this weather. Now that they were soaked, they were heavier and much colder.
Despite believing she was running at a record-setting pace, she heard footsteps behind her. Coming closer.
“Hey,” a strong male voice shouted. There was something soothing about the voice, but she knew better than to trust it. Folks could be looking for her. Bad people.
Relief nailed her at the thought it didn’t belong to him. Maybe she was safe after all? Then again, others could be out here. Waiting. Watching.
The small cabin at the foothills of the forest was supposed to be off the grid, where he couldn’t find her. Tara almost laughed out loud. He’d warned her that if she left, he wouldn’t rest until she was back where she belonged. With him. And now, she’d killed a Denver cop.
If Tara lived to be a hundred, she would never understand why she’d seen him as charming when they’d first met. Then again, wasn’t hindsight always perfect?
Alexander Smythe had a long reach. His cop buddies called him Xander. She nearly doubled over at the thought she could add cop killer to the list of names she’d been called. Xander’s co-workers would see to it another name was added to the list, inmate.
The fact Tara killed her former boyfriend in self-defense wasn’t something she could prove, and she doubted anyone else would come forward if she tried to make a case against him anyway. Xander had more friends and acquaintances than she did. The DA would make certain she served jailtime, causing her to lose the only person who truly mattered to her, her mom, who was presently in a rehab facility after a near-fatal car crash.
The adrenaline push depleted, Tara’s legs buckled. She tucked as best she could to protect herself from the fall. Her shoulder slammed against a tree trunk on the way down. She bit out a curse.
Running away had been foolish. No one could outrun the law.
In this case, even the good cops might be too afraid of Xander’s association with a criminal organization to come forward in her defense. No cop who knew him would be willing to testify against him or roll over on a fellow officer when others might hesitate to defend them when the time came, allowing a shooter to get off a shot or taking cover when they should be taking aim.
Tara knew the drill. When it came to law enforcement, loyalty to fellow officers came above personal choice. Or at least her one friend Officer Jenn McNeely had said so. If Jenn wouldn’t vouch for Tara or stand up to Xander, no one would.
“Are you alright?” the male voice said, slowing his pace. He approached like he was moving toward a wounded animal. One hand, palm out, was extended toward her. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to help.”
Could she trust this stranger?
Did she have a choice?
2
“My name is Rowan,” he said, easing toward the scared-out-of-her-wits lady, who was now curled in a ball like she was protecting her internal organs for the blow that was about to come. His first thought was that she must have escaped a domestic abuse situation, which caused his hands to fist. “Is he around? Is that why you ran?”
The woman turned her head toward him, and then blinked up at him. With the moonlight positioned just right, he caught a glimpse of the most stunning pair of violet eyes. He could also see blood on her face and arms. Was she injured?
