Spotlight & Giveaway: Ride A Dark Trail by Winter Austin

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Winter Austin to HJ!

Hi Winter and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Ride A Dark Trail!

To start off, can you please tell us a little bit about this book?:

Dorothy ‘Dot’ Ybarra is a woman without a mission. When a very young, highly
suspicious woman stumbles onto her family ranch, Dot finds herself pulled in a direction
she’d never imagined for herself; bounty hunting.

Please share your favorite lines or quote(s) from this book:

Dot reached out and pulled the girl toward her. “Well, Ashley, looks like I’m about to
disappoint my mother today.”
*
He removed his wraparound sunglasses and hung them by the ear from the top button on
his shirt. “Hey, Flygirl.”
“Danger Ranger.”
If he was here, something was up. By the way Ashley reacted, things were serious. It was
one thing for Sheriff Ford to come to the Ybarra ranch and ask questions—it was his job.
T.J. Roman was a whole different ball of wax.
*
This was the time of the day she loved the most. When the world hovered on the brink of
full awareness before it fully came awake. A stillness like holding one’s breath, waiting
for the burst of color when the sun topped the mountains.

What inspired this book?

When I switched from youth novels into reading adult novels—and as all readers will tell
you that came at an early age—I went straight into Westerns. Greats such as Louis
L’Amour, Zane Grey, and Elmer Kelton to name a few. I wanted to write a western for
sure. Then came one of my all-time campy westerns on TV, The Adventures of Brisco
County Jr., about a former lawyer turned bounty hunter looking for the men who killed
his lawman father. Add in my penchant for female-leads and a desire to get back to that
and poof you’ve got the perfect mix to create Dot.

How did you ‘get to know’ your main characters? Did they ever surprise you?

For Dot, nothing really surprising. Her Basque lineage and culture were long known and
her love of hunting and tracking coming from her Basque grandfather. I spent a lot of
time researching the Basque people and their long-reaching history, and they are
fascinating. She had only one parent left, her mother Angela, and if there were any
surprises it’s there is a cousin, from Angela’s mother’s side.
Then there’s T.J. Roman, Dot’s soon to be partner, the man behind the bounty
hunting, and his past with Dot while they were in the Army together. He as a Ranger, and
she as the pilot commanding the helicopter’s shuttling him and his team back and forth
on missions. T.J. is probably the reason early reviews on Ride a Dark Trail have leaned
toward a Yellowstone comparison. No secret there how much I admire Taylor Sheridan’s
writing and the show.

What was your favorite scene to write?

I love bringing humor and levity to what tends to be very serious subject matter in my
books. All the laid-back scenes in the book where it involves Dot with T.J. and little
Bethany were my favorite.

Dot became aware of the softest shuffle of feet against the threadbare rug. She peeled one
eye open and spotted the disheveled blonde in a pair of oversized flannel pajamas
looming over T.J.’s sleeping form on the couch. The stuffed horse hung over Bethany’s
forearm, its glossy black eyes staring at Dot in her armchair. Slowly, Bethany squatted
down until her head was level with the snoring man. Her small hand rose from her side
and inched toward his bearded face.
Smiling, Dot drew her blanket up to her chin and waited for the show.
Bethany poked a finger into T.J.’s cheek.
He startled. “Holy shhhh…”
His scramble to get upright jostled Bethany, and she flopped back onto her rear. A giggle
erupted from the girl and Dot joined her.
Fully awake, T.J. scowled at Dot. “Hey … kid,” he said.
“You’re loud,” Bethany declared.
Dot snorted at the girl’s bluntness. “I think he rattled the windows.”
Bethany’s bright face turned to Dot. “Yup!”

What was the most difficult scene to write?

The climatic ending was probably the hardest to write. Not because I was forcing it out of
my brain, but because of the wide scope of the final showdown between Dot and the
villain(s). There were a lot of intricate and moving parts that needed laid out in a
believable sequence. What I love about writing action, while in most cases we all know
it’s not always reality, but authors can make it a bit over the top without going full
‘jumping the shark’.

Two down and five to go. If seven was the accurate number to work with.
Where was that sniper?
Except for the crackle of the fires, silence lingered over the area. Dot kept on the scope,
watching for any movement other than the dying man along the hill. No one moved. She
placed her trigger finger along the guard and tapped off the seconds.
“Dot Ybarra!”
The man’s voice echoed over the hollow. No way to pin down where he was stationed.
“You can’t win this,” he bellowed again.
Dot settled deeper into the cheek weld of the Winchester, tucking her finger inside the
trigger guard.
“The wisest course of action is for you to give up the woman and the kid.”
This one liked to hear himself talk.
At the edge of the scope’s field, she spied a shadow. Dot adjusted for the distance. The
shadow moved. Someone was getting antsy.
“Last chance!”
The moment the echo from the warning faded, the shadow stepped out from behind the
tree he was using as a shield. Dot registered a second too late the grenade launcher he
held in his hands. She pulled the trigger at the same time a brilliant explosion came from
the barrel of his weapon.

Would you say this book showcases your writing style or is it a departure for you?

This book most certainly does showcase my style. Strong, kick-butt, female lead with
skills that aren’t normally expected of women. I got do a full departure from straight
police procedural, but it holds all the hallmarks of mystery and truth seeking.

What do you want people to take away from reading this book?

A sense of satisfaction in seeing the baddies get their comeuppance by a woman. And
enjoy it. It’s a guilty pleasure to read something like this and be swept away. We need
more suspense/thriller books with a lot of action written by more women authors. I hope I
gave you that thrill.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

Finishing up edits and whatnot with book #2 for A Bounty of Shadows aptly titled Bait
the Devil. And writing on book #5 of my Benoit and Dayne mystery series.

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: An ebook copy of RIDE A DARK TRAIL + one additional Tule ebook of the winner’s choice

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: Who’s your all-time favorite western hero (or outlaw), and what makes them unforgettable?

 
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Excerpt from Ride A Dark Trail:

Chapter One

His ghost always joined her for the final drag on an Ave Maria Dark Knight cigar.

He started appearing two months into her newly formed habit. Always in his sweat-stained, gray Open Road Stetson and wool-lined coat with a few less wrinkles in his face. Here, in the goats’ lean-to, where she’d taken to hiding out to have her smoke so as to not offend her mother’s senses.

At his first appearance, she swore it was a hallucination. The second time, she flipped out. With each appearance since she became more belligerent, while he grew more persistent.

“Biloba, why do you keep doing this thing?”

She blew out the smoke. “Go away, Aitonatxo.”

Her grandfather shook his head. One of the goats meandered through his transparent legs, disrupting his stern reproach. Aitona turned his withering look to the red-brown doe munching on hay.

“Goats. She just had to get goats.”

A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth as she drew on the cigar for the last time. One year after her grandfather passed, her mother had sold the last of the sheep, turned the ranch into an outfitter and hunting business, bought horses and mules for it, then goats just for the hell of it. The small herd had come in real handy in keeping the overgrowth of underbrush and weeds under control, saving the ranch a time or two from wildfires. The milking goats also made convenient pack animals when there was need for nourishment up in the mountains.

Aitona didn’t roll over in his grave. No, he came back to fucking haunt her and complain about the goats.

“Dorothy Ybarra, where are you?”

His specter vanished with her last puff of smoke. Before her mother could barge into the goats’ lean-to and give her hell for smoking in the building, Dorothy ground the butt into the bottom of her boot. One disapproving familia was enough, even if Aitonatxo was an apparition of her mind.

Angela Ybarra rounded the edge of the lean-to’s weathered support post, her pack of mutts in tow. The goats scattered, except for a leggy dark brown female who’d taken a liking to Dot and exuded copious amounts of stubborn. That doe would not be deterred by no dog.

Exactly twenty years older and just as whipcord lean as her daughter, Angela Ybarra was the polar opposite when it came to Dot’s tornado in a trailer park personality. But that didn’t stop Angela from pulling the matriarch card every chance she got.

Angela wrinkled her nose and gave Dot a pointed look but held her tongue. Dot hadn’t burned down any buildings. Yet.

Her mother reached out and scratched the doe’s withers. “I’ve got a new elk hunting party coming in later today. We’re taking them out to that nice valley for their hunt. I need to grab a few supplies for the trip. In the meantime, would you round up your gear and check it over?”

“You sure you want me up there with you?”

“I need you, Dot. This is a new group to me.”

In other words, Ama wasn’t comfortable being on her own with this bunch. Most of the hunters Angela outfitted were longtime customers she had built a strong rapport with and trusted. She took on new clients only if there was a long lull between her regulars and funds were tight.

Since Dot’s return to the ranch, she’d been her mother’s backup when one of the local sheep herders wasn’t available to ride out with Angela. Dot’s presence on hunts was a good deterrent for wannabe suitors or general dickheads. Not that Angela Ybarra couldn’t hold her own—she was Samo Ybarra’s daughter after all and had sent many a man intending ill-intent back to civilization with a limp and severe damage to his manhood. Dot, on the other hand, was less accommodating. The pervs usually woke up in the hospital, cuffed to the bedrail.

“Ama, you don’t need to earn the extra cash. I can spot you.”

“No.” Angela sliced the air with a disapproving finger. “Your army and pilot funds are yours. Don’t waste them on my business.”

“Come on!”

“I’ll hear no more of it.” Angela checked her watch. “I’m going. Be ready.” She slipped from view, her canine pack following.

Dot’s guard goat gave a very goat-like nicker as she munched on weeds bold enough to dare grow in their pen.

It might have been a year since the crash. She might have been released from physical therapy with a clean bill of health two months ago. And she might be in the best physical shape of her life since basic training and flight school. Still, Dot hadn’t spent more than two hours horseback in the last six months. Riding into the foothills of the Payette National Forest and getting to that valley her mother spoke of meant at least an eight-hour ride. Probably longer if this new hunting party wasn’t used to long hours in the saddle.

Dot groaned. Good thing she loved her mother.

She rose from the goats’ favorite climbing stump and vacated the lean-to. At the corner, she glanced back at the spot where Aitona had appeared.

He’d died while she was away at training. It ate at her for years that she hadn’t been here to see him crossed over to the other side and be with his beloved Dorothy—Dot’s namesake. Though somehow he hadn’t quite left the ranch.

He wanted to know. Or maybe she was using his specter to ask herself the question.

Why did she do this thing? She was hale and hearty, ready to get back in the air. God knew the forest service hadn’t stopped calling. Yet she couldn’t pull herself away from her current predicament.

Why?

“I’m doing it for Ama,” she said to the air.

Alone in the barn, Dot worked the bowstring for her recurve. The tang of warm horseflesh and sweet summer hay soothed her. In the paddock beside the barn, a horse gave a low throaty greeting to a friend and was answered in kind.

Dot lifted the tightly woven string and inspected it. The best way to ensure reliability was to nock arrow to string and let it fly at a target. Her earliest memory was standing with Aitona, his muscular arms haloing her tiny form and helping her draw back a bowstring on an equally tiny recurve. Hunting and fishing in all their forms had been ingrained into Dot from the moment her small hands could navigate the intricate details of each instrument. When not advocating or educating for the Basque community or tending to his beloved sheep ranch, her grandfather was hunting or fishing.

During her years as an army aviator, she’d fine-tuned her tracking and aiming skills in a different way. She now possessed uncanny abilities that made hunters visiting their outfitting business envious.

Dot checked her watch, a parting gift from her squad commander the day she DD214’d out of the army. Mom should be returning soon. Hopefully, she would be bringing something from Euskadi to eat. Dot was starving.

She was repacking her gear when the dogs started up a ruckus. She set aside her equipment bag and rose from the makeshift haybale seat.

A stranger was near.

Dot emerged from the barn’s darkened interior and leaned a shoulder into the wall. Beneath her cream-colored, felt Stetson she scanned the drive. Nothing.

One of the blue heelers shot past her pos, toward the dirt path ringing the homestead. Fast on the bitch’s trail came the rest of the pack.

Intrigued, Dot left her spot and followed the dogs. If no one was coming up the drive, then what did they hear and smell? She passed the house and the goat pasture, where the Great Pyrenees and Anatolian guard dogs’ deep barks echoed over the valley. Dot stepped out from under the low branches of the shade trees and spotted the pack running to the wood fence separating the yard from the empty summer pasture.

With the start of elk season, there were times when hunters—on their own—would get lost or turned around in the forest and somehow end up here. On a few occasions, they would mistake the Ybarra ranch animals for the prey they hunted and take shots.

Dot scanned the horizon. A black shadow broke the pristine lines, wobbling about through the pasture’s long grasses. She tilted back the brim of her hat and let her hawk eyes take in the sight coming toward her. The continued barking grated on her already frayed nerves.

“Nahikoa!”

The pack fell silent, but the dogs were not done. They kept their collective gazes trained on the oncoming intruder.

Dot lowered her right hand to her hip and removed the ever-present sidearm strapped to her leg. The intruder was too far away to tell if this was a predator or not. Wild animals were known to venture out of the Payette National Forest in search of easy game if conditions forced them.

She closed the distance between her position and the fence.

“Itzalita,” she said, ordering the dogs off.

They scuttled back to the trees, refusing to leave her alone. She never had anything to fear with those four-legged wingmen.

A cry echoed over the wide span of ground—a very human cry. The figure took shape as they raised an arm. Another cry went up right as the person floundered and went down, disappearing behind the waist-high grass.

“Shit.” Dot rushed to the fence and vaulted over it.

The dogs once again started up their chorus of intruder alert. Dot snarled at their persistence.

She raced across the field, keeping her sidearm ready, straight for the spot where the figure had gone down. The faint cries increased in volume and distress the closer Dot drew.

She slowed her pace and lifted the pistol, searching the tree line for any signs of a threat of the four-legged or two-legged kind. She parted the grass, revealing a pitiful creature in the fetal position on the ground.

“What the hell?”

The creature’s body jerked, and a disheveled head the color of dried wheat lifted from the ground. A pair of red-rimmed doe eyes peered up at Dot.

“Don’t shoot,” she pleaded, raising bloodstained and dirty hands.

Dot lowered the weapon. “Who are you?”

“I need help. He took her.” She gathered herself and pried her trembling body up from the earth, still keeping her hands raised. “He took her.”

“Who took who? How did you get out here?”

The woman—if she could be called that; she didn’t look a day over seventeen—continued to give mewling sounds.

Assured she was alone and nothing dangerous would come blowing out of the forest, Dot holstered her pistol. She catalogued the girl’s features—the skewed flannel shirt, the dirty and ripped jeans, the piss-poor excuse for shoes, and the bleeding cuts joined by a large purple bruise under her left eye. She had obviously been in the rocky areas past the Ybarra ranch, hiking or camping in the Payette. Something was off. Really off.

“My ex,” she blurted. “He took my daughter.”

“And why would he do that?”

Through the blood and bruises, sheer terror appeared on the girl’s face. “I don’t know.”

“Were you in the Payette?”

“Yes. I was hiking with my daughter. I don’t know how he found us.”

What she didn’t say was broadcast all over her face and body. He’d beat the shit out of her before running off with the kid.

“What’s your name?” Dot asked.

Giving a great shudder, the girl swiped away snot, blood, and tears from her face with the cuff of her torn sleeve. “My name is Ashley.” She flinched at the sight on her sleeve. “Ashley Cooper,” she added, her voice almost childlike.

Dot reached out and pulled the girl toward her. “Well, Ashley, looks like I’m about to disappoint my mother today.”

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Will her life philosophy, “Do right, fear no man,” get her killed?

A string of bad luck has left former Army helicopter pilot Dot Ybarra with a serious case of wrecked nerves and a need for peace and solace at her family’s Idaho ranch. Instead, she encounters a desperate mother who stumbles onto their land, begging Dot to rescue her kidnapped daughter.

There’s a bounty on the kidnapper’s head, and fugitive recovery agent T.J. Roman is not about to let that paycheck slip through his fingers. Together, he and Dot rescue the child.

But their actions set off an explosion of secrets in Euskadi. The sheriff is slinking around with a new shady sidekick, Dot’s friends are stabbed, and armed mercenaries attack her ranch, forcing her to use her hunting and archery skills to defend her family. Cornered by the unknown enemy’s three-pronged attack, Dot and her charges retreat deep into the Payette National Forest. Isolated in the mountainous forest, separated from T.J. and any help, Dot must make a hard choice: fight or walk away?

Will her first recovery job be her last?

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Meet the Author:

Winter Austin perpetually answers the question: “were you born in the winter?” with a flat “nope,” but believe her, there is a story behind her name.

A lifelong Mid-West gal with strong ties to the agriculture world, Winter grew up listening to the captivating stories told by relatives around a table or a campfire. As a published author, she learned her glass half-empty personality makes for a perfect suspense/thriller writer. Taking her ability to verbally spin a vivid and detailed story, Winter translated that into writing deadly romantic suspense, mysteries, and thrillers.

When she’s not slaving away at the computer, you can find Winter supporting her daughter in cattle shows, seeing her three sons off into the wide-wide world, loving on her fur babies, prodding her teacher husband, and nagging at her flock of hens to stay in the coop or the dogs will get them.

She is the author of multiple novels.
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