Space Wrangler

On this frontier, love could get you killed. And that's part of the rush.

Space Rustlers
, Book 1

Like all miracles, a rip in space has its dark side. Through it, adventurers explore new worlds, smugglers make their fortunes, and wranglers like Rick Gage pit their skills against hordes of magnificent robots. The downside? Five percent of those who enter “the sinkhole” are never seen again.

Alexia Montoya isn't looking for thrills. She just wants to find her brother, who disappeared in the sinkhole five years ago. Conventional wisdom says he disintegrated within seconds, and the powers-that-be want her to stop looking. Stop agitating. Stop ruining business.

When desperation drives her to transit the rip herself, the official reception is armed and hostile. Luckily, someone steps in to protect her: a handsome, gun-toting wrangler—who believes her quest is futile.

Rick has one piece of advice for Alexia. Go home. But the pesky woman persists until the authorities come up with a more permanent solution. Reunite her with her brother—permanently—by throwing
her
into the sinkhole. After all, no one would dare challenge their absolute authority.

No one, that is, except Rick.

Warning: This book glorifies outlaws, encourages lawlessness, condones unprotected space contact, and could lead to the rise of the kind of machines that don't require batteries.

Space Wrangler

Kate Donovan

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my husband Paul—the perfect blend of Rick and Zeke. Just my types!

Chapter One

After three long months in space, Rick Gage had three simple needs: a decent meal, some fun with a bio-girl and a new wrangling contract.

Time wasn't a problem, so a short wait at the docking station wouldn't have bothered him. But forty-five minutes?

“What's going on, Sensie?” he asked his onboard computer.

“There's a commotion on the platform, Captain. I can't quite get a fix on—oh! Look at the screen. It appears to be—and now I've confirmed that it
is
—Alexia Montoya.”

“Seriously?” Rick stared at the monitor, fascinated by the image of a pretty, dark-haired female surrounded by gawking onlookers. “She swore she'd never transit the sinkhole. But you're right, that's her. Man, I wonder if the company knew she was coming.”

“She is
persona non grata
here,” Sensie agreed.

With his gaze still on the screen, Rick walked over to the hook that held his gun belt. “I'm gonna get a closer look.”

“You should wear your grandfather's coat.”

“The buckskin?” Rick laughed. “I don't plan on actually
meeting
her, Sensie.”

“Why not? This might be your only chance.” The computer's tone was cool and analytical. “She is a celebrity, and more importantly, she is someone to be admired.”

“True. She has one hell of a rack.”

When Sensie launched into a diatribe about the unimportance of physical appearance, and the
extreme
importance of Alexia Montoya's tireless devotion—not only to her dead brother, but to
all
the victims of the sinkhole—Rick laughed again. “I know, I know. I was just goading you.”

She seemed to sigh aloud. “Forgive me, Captain. But I have always viewed her as an outstanding example of the best of the female gender. And thanks to
you—
or rather, your
programming efforts—that is the gender with which I identify.”

“Yeah, you're a girl for sure. So I guess I should take your wardrobe advice, right?” Crossing to the closet, he brushed aside a polymer curtain and pulled the long buckskin jacket off its hanger.

Despite Sensie's description, it had never actually belonged to his grandfather. Rick's dad had spied something similar in an old photo of a nineteenth-century ancestor and had had this jacket made to resemble it, except in larger proportions, since he had been taller and broader than the man in the picture.

Rick didn't look like the cowpoke in the photograph either. He looked like Special Agent Roderick Gage of the FBI. Same face, same build, same magnet for horrific tragedy—

Rejecting the morbid thoughts, he reminded himself that Sensie was correct. Meeting the last surviving Montoya—or even catching a glimpse of her in the flesh—was an amazing prospect. He had read her brother's biography—
Prince of Geeks
—more than once, first for inspiration while building Sensie, and then just because Trent Montoya had been unique in his ability to apply genius to real-world problems.

After that, Rick had re-read
Kingdom of Geeks
, the precursor book that chronicled the exploits of Roberto Montoya, father to Trent and Alexia, and the man who discovered the sinkhole in the first place, thus facilitating Rick's escape from Earth and all its baggage.

“You look very handsome, Captain,” Sensie told him. “But shouldn't you hurry? They'll either invite Alexia into the Sea-Mont building or deport her. Either way, you might not get another chance.”

“Good point.” He strapped his double-holstered belt under the jacket, refusing to consider whether weapons would be perceived as a threat to the celebrated newcomer. Carrying blast pistols was legal, wasn't it? As long as he didn't wear them in the bar or at company headquarters, it was no one's business. They were a throwback to his soldier days, but in truth, his actual weapon of choice these days was his ship's electronic lariat.

“Shouldn't you wear the Stetson too?” Sensie asked him.

“Since when did you start dressing me? Just hold the fort, okay? Keep all systems up and raise your secondary shields. If they decide to deport Alexia Montoya, it could get crazy around here, and we need to stay out of it. That's an order, by the way.”

“If TJ Seaton dares to deport her, he will regret it,” Sensie assured him.

“It's none of our business. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain Gage,” she agreed without hesitation. “That is understood.”

As Rick approached the crowd inside the space dock, he reminded himself why Sensie had a right to feel defensive. Trent Montoya had designed her prototype, and so in a freakish sense,
he
was her creator as much as Rick. And then Trent had disappeared—gobbled up by the sinkhole in the fabric of space like so many before him.

It happened five percent of the time, meaning everyone who transited from Earth to Destry, or vice versa, knew they were taking that risk. Still, the idea that it would swallow a Montoya had shocked the world. And it had understandably devastated Alexia, who had launched a Herculean effort to find her only sibling. To rescue him. Even though experts agreed that those who disappeared during transit were gone forever, their molecules either sprinkled across the galaxy or entombed in the capsules in which they had attempted their passage.

Even Trent himself, who had studied the phenomenon during the early days of sinkhole exploration, had pronounced it a death sentence. As romantic as it sounded to imagine the victims thriving in an alternate universe, or suspended in time—alive and intact, awaiting rescue—it hadn't made sense to Trent.

And it didn't make sense to Rick either, but he keenly understood why Alexia needed to keep searching.

Straining for a glimpse of her now, he realized she was completely dwarfed by the company's beefy security guards, which meant she was a lot shorter than she appeared on video and in print tabloids.

Let's just hope she's as stacked as she looked in that Christmas special
, he told himself with a guilty chuckle. She had definitely gotten his attention with that appearance, mostly because he had been sequestered in a remote desert location and hadn't seen a freshly showered female in weeks.

Drawing closer, he saw that the Sea-Mont enforcers weren't just gawking at the celebrity. Two had actually drawn their blast pistols and were pointing them right at her.

Unbelievable
.

It was an outrage, especially given how normal she looked. Nothing like the glamorous target portrayed by the media. Dressed in black jeans and a white tank top, she had a healthy glow to her warm brown skin that was echoed by the copper-colored streaks in her wavy, shoulder-length black hair. Minimal makeup, no jewelry, no flash whatsoever.

Just a girl
…

Instinctively, he drew both his pistols and aimed them at the offending enforcers. “What the
fuck
is going on?”

The crowd drew back as the guards shifted their focus—
and
their aim—from Alexia to Rick.

Then the brawnier of the two enforcers spoke. “Holster your weapons, Gage, or you'll be in more trouble than
she
is.”

Ignoring him, Rick said, “Miss Montoya? Move over here behind me.
Slowly
. And don't worry, I've got this.”

The second guard's eyes widened. “She came through the sinkhole on false papers. We're within our rights—”

“Fuck that,” the bulked-up guy interrupted. “We have standing orders from David Seaton to arrest her if she dares set foot on this platform.”

Rick shrugged. “Her family owns half the company, which means
she's
your boss as much as Seaton is.”

“She owns forty-five percent. So she loses,” the brute said, his tone taunting. “Back off unless you want to be deported with her.”

Rick glanced at Alexia. She hadn't followed his instructions to move behind him, so he edged toward her, his beams still focused on the foreheads of the two guards, until he was in front of her. “You okay?” he asked without really looking at her.

“I appreciate the help, cowboy. But this isn't my first rodeo.”

Annoyed, he took a quick glance at her face and had to chuckle. She clearly wasn't scared. In fact, she was enjoying this, probably because she had been through it so many times during protest rallies at Seaton-sponsored events.

But those had taken place Earth-side. Now that she had transited, she needed to learn a new set of rules.

D-side rules.

“The Seatons are the law here, Miss Montoya. Judge, jury and executioner. There's no court system to settle disputes on this side of the sinkhole.”

Immediately he regretted the remark, not just because of the flicker of something—hurt, maybe?—in her golden-brown eyes, but because he was talking out of his ass and he knew it. Sure, the Earth-side courts had protected her right to audit the company records, but they hadn't exactly ruled in her favor, had they? If they had, she wouldn't need to sneak through the sinkhole like a criminal, but would instead receive kid-glove treatment as an officer of Seaton-Montoya Incorporated.

Still, he noted she had shifted her position a few inches so that she was partially protected by him. That was a good sign, wasn't it?

“Lower your weapons,” he advised the guards. “We'll get TJ Seaton over here and
he
can decide what happens next.”

“We don't work for TJ. We work for his father.”

“Well,” a new voice drawled from the far end of the crowd, “my father isn't here, is he? And when he's Earth-side,
I'm
the law of the land, correct? So lower those weapons.
Now
.”

Rick grinned at the enforcers, enjoying the disbelief in their eyes as they stared at TJ, a thirty-five-year-old man with sandy hair and the build of a running back. Despite his crisp blue suit, he looked like he could wipe the floor with any man. Maybe even Rick.

“But, sir,” the bigger, more obnoxious guard was insisting, “she came through on forged papers. We have every right to arrest her.”

TJ arched a damning eyebrow. “Excellent work, Sergeant. Remind me to compliment you in my office tomorrow morning at seven a.m. sharp. Meanwhile—” he turned his attention to Alexia, “—do I get a hug?”

She stepped from behind Rick and flashed a dazzling smile. “I thought you'd never ask.” Then she crossed to TJ, but not before instructing Rick to “Stay put, cowboy. You'll get one too, but you have to wait your turn.”

Holstering his laser pistols, he watched the enforcers vanish along with the rest of the gawkers. Only the three of them remained—Alexia, TJ and Rick—and all the action was with TJ.

“Does this mean you don't hate me anymore?” the company president demanded of the beautiful girl in his arms.

“Hardly at all,” she assured him.

“So you didn't come here to assassinate me?
That's
good news.”

Alexia arched a perfect eyebrow. “I came to mend fences. But if you're going to mock me—”

“Never. I've been praying for this day. Ever since you sued us.”

“You mean, ever since the day
you
had my brother declared dead?”

Uncomfortable with the bizarre reunion, Rick cleared his throat. “I'll just get back to my ship now. When you have a minute, Mr. Seaton, I'm ready for a new contract. Just let me know.”

Alexia spun toward him, her honeyed eyes dancing. “You're not going anywhere, cowboy.” To TJ she added, “This man rescued me from your evil storm troopers. Give him whatever he wants.”

“I just want another wrangling contract,” Rick said with a laugh. “And tomorrow's soon enough.”

“Nonsense.” TJ's tone was clipped but not unfriendly. “Captain Rick Gage, meet Alexia Montoya. Alexia, this man is our best wrangler, and that's saying a lot.”

“Wrangler?” She seemed to roll the word around in her mouth. “I want to hear more. But I need a bubble bath first. So shall we say: dinner?”

“Great idea,” TJ agreed. “Rick, join us at my penthouse at seven. I'll have the new contract ready and waiting. How's that?”

Rick hesitated, completely confused. What purpose would he serve at this reunion? Comic relief? Rumor had it TJ had been like a brother to Trent and Alexia, but there had been something in that reunion hug just now, hadn't there? TJ seemed amorous, and Alexia had thrown her whole—not to mention hot—body into it, signaling a clear case of once-and-future lust.

Who was Rick to interfere? Much less play sidekick, especially when the space platform had dozens of bio-girls to entertain him.

“I don't want to butt in, so just send the contract to my computer,” he repeated firmly.

Alexia eyed him with mock dismay. “Are you saying you don't want to have dinner with me?”

TJ chuckled. “She can't be denied, buddy. So be there at seven. And wear something better than that.”

“No,” Alexia interrupted. “Wear
exactly
what you're wearing now.”

Alexia watched as the tall, good-looking cowboy—or rather “wrangler”—strode back toward the docking slips. She didn't blame him for being uncomfortable with the love/hate reunion she was having with TJ. It confused her too, and she suspected her almost-lover felt the same way.

“What's his story?” she asked softly.

“It's tragic, actually. And the bottom line is: he's a loner. He even named his ship the
Drifter
. So take my advice and find someone else to flirt with.”

A loner?

Not likely
, she decided. Rick Gage had exhibited the traits of a leader, not a drifter. And definitely not a detached, disinterested bystander.

She wanted to hear more, but knew she should stay on task, so she told TJ, “He thinks I'm here to shoot you. Or seduce you. Any preference?”