Texas Forever

by Janet Dailey

“I am.” Rose smiled. “As I recall, Bull won it in a poker game. I always suspected him of cheating, but that was Bull for you. To him, the land was everything. Land and family. Nothing else mattered.” She paused. “Sorry, you were going to say something about the parcel.”

  Erin pulled out to pass a lumbering cattle truck. “We’ve counted on that caprock land to save us in a drought, but this year we’ve overgrazed it. There’s water up there but the grass is almost eaten off. If we don’t pull the cattle off soon, it won’t grow back. We’re trucking water to the mountain tanks, and the water table’s in danger of sinking below the wells that supply the house and lower pastures. Even the horses . . .” Erin pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Aside from selling our stock early, we’re running out of options.”

  Rose brushed Erin’s arm with one small, work-worn hand. “I can tell you’re as passionate about the land and animals as your father and grandfather were. You’re a Tyler, Erin. You’ll find a way to get through this.” She was silent for a moment. “You haven’t mentioned the creek—the one that flows from the aquifer under the caprock and runs along the property line with the old Prescott Ranch. Surely that wouldn’t go dry. Do you still run creek water into that old stock tank, the one that Bull dug years ago?”

  “We’ve replaced the tank with a metal one,” Erin said. “But yes, we still fill it from the creek. There’s not enough water for a big herd, but that creek is vital to the survival of the ranch. The plan is, if worse comes to worst, and we have to sell off everything but breeding stock, we’ll pay a grazing fee to run them on that government land beyond the ranch boundary and water them from the tank and the creek.” She glanced at Rose. “I’m surprised that you know so much about the ranch, especially that creek.”

  “You shouldn’t be,” Rose said, “unless Will hasn’t told you the story.”

  “Told me what story?” Erin felt a vague, tingling premonition.

  “That strip of land along the Rimrock side of the creek belonged to my grandfather. To shorten a long story, I was with Grandpa when he was shot trying to defend it from the Prescotts. Bull showed up in time to save me, but it was too late for Grandpa. Bull buried him on the property, under an old fallen tree.”

  “Yes—I’ve seen that headstone. It’s mostly covered in dirt and cow droppings now. I’ve always assumed it was some old-time settler buried there. So, that’s your grandfather?”

  “I was fourteen when he left that parcel to me. Bull took me in and took over the land. Years later, after I threatened to join forces with Ferg Prescott to get it, he deeded that land back to me on condition that the Rimrock always be given access to the water. I kept my part of the bargain. But I expected better for my grandpa’s memory.”

  “I’m sorry,” Erin said. “I wish I’d known about it.”

  “You couldn’t have known, dear. All this happened long before you were born.” Rose’s voice took on a determined tone. “My grandpa gave his life’s blood for that land. And if his grave isn’t being given the care and respect it deserves, I’m going to have to do something about it.”

  “If you need help cleaning the place up and restoring the grave—”

  “Thank you. I may take you up on that.” Rose fell silent. For the next few minutes Erin focused on driving, moving to the outside lane of the freeway and watching for the exit to Blanco Springs. But she was too curious about Rose’s story to let it rest.

  “I hope you won’t mind one more question,” she said. “You say your grandfather was shot by the Prescotts. Who actually shot him? Was it Ferg?”

  “It was Ham Prescott, Ferg’s father.” The strain in Rose’s voice revealed the vividness of her memory. “I was there. I saw it with my own eyes. It was cold-blooded murder.”

  “Was Ham arrested for it?”

  “No. That’s another long story. But justice caught up with him.”

  “What happened?” Erin asked.

  A moment of silence passed before Rose answered. “I forget how much time passed—several weeks, maybe. Bull and Jasper had taken me in and done their best to protect me, but the night came when I was alone in the house. Ham had learned that I’d witnessed the killing. He showed up with a pistol to silence me. As he got out of his truck and walked toward the house, I grabbed my grandpa’s double-barreled shotgun from behind the door, aimed it, and pulled the trigger.”

  “You killed him?” Erin stifled a gasp as the horror sank in.

  “A shotgun blast to the midsection will do that to a man,” Rose said. “Ham didn’t die easy. But that’s a story for another time.”

  Erin’s throat had gone dry, leaving her with no words. Her father had said Rose was tough. She was just beginning to understand how tough.

  * * *

  After an early supper of tamales and beans, prepared by Carmen, the ranch’s attractive, middle-aged Latina cook, Rose and Will retired to the front porch to watch the last rays of sunset fade above the caprock. From the dining room, Rose could hear the faint clatter of china and cutlery as Erin cleaned up after the meal. Will’s daughter, she sensed, was deliberately leaving them alone so they could relax and talk.

  “Your daughter is lovely, Will,” Rose said, settling back in her chair.

  “Being her dad has been the best thing I ever did.” Will popped the tabs on two cold cans of Dos Equis and passed one to Rose. “Tori, my wife, was only able to have one child. Bull never forgave her for not giving him grandsons. But I never minded. We had a perfect daughter.”

  Rose reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry about your wife. You must miss her terribly.”

  “I do. Every minute of every day. But at least I’ve got Erin. Tori and I tried to talk her into going away to college, but she wanted to stay here and learn to run the ranch. Now I’m glad she made that choice. I don’t know what I’d have done without her these past few months. And she’s going to make a first-rate rancher.”

  He fished a half-empty cigarette pack out of his shirt pocket and held it out to her. Rose shook her head. “No thanks. I’ve never taken to the habit. But you have one. I won’t mind.”

  He took his time, tapping out the cigarette and slipping the pack back into his pocket. His lighter flamed in the shadows.

  As he smoked, Rose studied his profile in the fading light. Even as a boy, Will had reminded her of Bull. Now the resemblance was even stronger. But Will had a tender side that Bull had lacked, or at least kept buried. Now, with his wife and his best friend both gone, he was visibly suffering.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

  He exhaled, blowing a thin shaft of smoke. “I was thinking how I used to sit out here with Jasper, and the things we talked about. He was the wisest man I’ve ever known, and the best.”

  “I know,” Rose said. “I miss him, too. I hope he’s off somewhere with his Sally.”

  “Some men only love once,” Will said. “It was true of Jasper, and I think it must be true of me, as well.”

  “Don’t count yourself out.” Rose sipped her beer, which was already getting warm. “You’re a good-looking man, and still young. Don’t be surprised when the single women in town start coming around with chicken soup and apple pie—if they aren’t doing it already.”

  “It’s too soon.” Will sounded almost angry, so Rose changed the subject.

  “I’m anxious to see Beau again. How soon will he be getting here?”

  “Tomorrow. But don’t expect them to stay long. Beau and I . . . we didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

  “And Sky? When do I finally get to meet Bull’s other son?”

  “He’ll be around. I’ll introduce you.”

  “What’s he like? What can you tell me about him?”

  “What can I tell you about Sky?” Will puffed on his cigarette and watched the smoke drift upward. “He inherited all of Bull’s good qualities and none of the bad ones. He’s quiet, modest, and a genius with horses. When Bull died, he willed
Sky a hundred acres of prime land. Sky lives there, in the house he built for his family.”

  “I still can’t believe he married Garn Prescott’s daughter. I hope his wife’s better looking than the Prescott men. Garn was certainly no Paul Newman.”

  Will laughed. “Lauren’s a stunner, and smart as a whip. She does the bookkeeping for the ranch. And they’ve got three of the most beautiful kids you ever saw.”

  “So there’s hope that the ugly gene’s been weeded out of the Prescott line for good.”

  “You’re terrible, Rose.”

  Rose grinned in the darkness. “Yes, I know. But speaking of the Prescotts, I do have one question. I’m aware that Ferg passed away before Bull did. But I’ve never been told how it happened. It would give me some satisfaction to know.”

  Will flipped his cigarette butt over the porch rail, onto the gravel, where it glowed for a few seconds, then faded in the dark. “I know you’re hoping that Ferg got the ending he deserved. You might say he did, but not in the way you’d expect. A few years after you left for Wyoming, Ferg developed early onset Alzheimer’s. He went downhill pretty fast. Garn came home, bundled his father off to a nursing home, and put the ranch up for sale. By the time Ferg died, with his mind pretty well gone, the syndicate had taken over, and Garn was using the money to buy himself a seat in Congress.

  “That sounds like Garn.” Rose shook her head. “And you’re right about what happened to Ferg. It wasn’t what I expected. Nobody deserves to go that way. Not even a greedy, lying slimeball like Ferg Prescott.”

  The stars were coming out. Rose leaned back in her chair to sip her beer and watch them appear, one by one, in the deepening sky. She’d meant to mention her land and the condition of her grandpa’s grave. But she and Will were both talked out. It might be best to wait until after the funeral. For now, it was good to be back on Rimrock soil. The place was beginning to feel like home again.

  * * *

  Hunter Cardwell, manager of the syndicate-owned Prescott Ranch, glared at his son, across the dinner table. “I’ve noticed that that diamond ring of your grandma’s is still in the box,” he said. “I expected the Tyler girl to be wearing it by now.”

  Kyle’s gaze dropped to the half-finished beef stroganoff on his plate. “I asked her. But Erin says she needs more time. Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll ask her again soon. She can’t say no forever.”

  “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t let her,” Hunter said. “Do you think I like working my ass off for wages? Do you think I want the same for my son? That girl is our one chance to get a ranch in the family. She’s Will Tyler’s only heir, and when he goes—”

  “Will Tyler’s got a brother, who works for the DEA in Washington.”

  “Don’t you argue with me,” Hunter snapped. “I’ve looked into it. Will Tyler arranged to buy out his brother’s share a few years ago. The deal left him cash poor, with a mortgage from the bank, but Will’s the sole owner now, and that daughter of his is pure gold. So help me, son, if you screw this up—”

  “I won’t, Dad. I promise.”

  “Then why aren’t you with her right now? That old-timer the Tylers set so much store by croaked a couple of days ago. The girl’s bound to need comforting. The least you could do is be there for her.”

  “Dad, I talked with Erin on the phone. She doesn’t want to see me until after the funeral. That’s not till Saturday.”

  “Damn!” Hunter’s fist came down hard on the table, making the dishes and cutlery jump. “You’ll never get the girl if you let her push you around like that. Be a man. Go after her. Show her you mean business. Understand?”

  “Yes, Dad.” Kyle’s handsome face wore a sullen look.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “That’s better.” Hunter’s gaze swung toward his wife. “Vivian, these potatoes are cold. Can’t you learn to serve a meal with everything hot at the same time? No, don’t get up. Just learn to do it right, unless you’re too stupid to learn. If that’s the case, we have a problem.”

  * * *

  Vivian Cardwell didn’t reply. She’d long since learned that meeting her husband’s tirades with silence was the only defense available to her. Stand up to him, and she would pay the price for days on end.

  She could leave him, she thought. Her mirror told her she was still a pretty woman, with fair skin, green eyes, long, auburn hair, and a nice, voluptuous figure. Some man would want her. Or she could always get a job. But that would mean leaving her home, and leaving her son at the mercy of Hunter’s browbeating. Kyle was old enough to strike out on his own. But as long as there was a chance of his marrying Erin Tyler, Hunter would never let him go.

  She studied her husband from her place at the foot of the table, nearest the kitchen. Hunter Cardwell was a strikingly handsome man, tall and athletically built, with chiseled features and dark hair that was turning an elegant shade of silver. When he had something to gain by it, he could be charming, especially to women.

  As far as Vivian knew, her husband hadn’t been unfaithful. He was demanding in bed, but sex tended to be all about him, leaving her feeling more used than loved. Sometimes, like tonight, she almost wished Hunter would have an affair. At least it might improve his disposition—or better yet, give her an excuse to walk away.

  When the meal was finished, Hunter retired to his study and the endless record keeping that the syndicate owners demanded. Kyle went up to his room to spend time on his computer course in range management—or at least, that’s what he said he’d be doing. Tonight, Vivian didn’t care.

  After the table was cleared, the kitchen tidied, and the dishwasher loaded, she wandered outside, onto the front porch of the modest, split-level frame house that had come with the manager’s job. Standing at the rail, she closed her eyes and let the night breeze dry her sweat-dampened face. Night-flying insects chirped and hummed in the darkness. The jasmine vine she’d planted below the porch and had babied through two years of heat, drought, and cold had finally put out a few timid white blossoms, their fragrance almost drowned by the odors of dust and livestock.

  Minutes away, by unpaved back road, lay the neighboring Rimrock Ranch. Its impressive main house, a blend of stone, glass, and timber, was as handsome and rugged as its owner. Vivian had been inside the house just once, when she and Hunter had paid their respects after the funeral of Will Tyler’s wife. They’d only stayed a short time, but when Will had taken her hand, the briefest gesture, she’d been struck by his quiet strength and dignity, and by the sheer masculinity of his presence.

  Since that day, four months ago, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

  How would it feel to be cradled by those powerful arms? To be kissed by him? Loved by him?

  Fantasizing about him was wrong, she knew. Will was mourning his wife. She was married.

  But as long as nothing happened, what harm could a little dreaming do? And nothing was going to happen between her and Will Tyler. Not ever.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “HAVE YOU MET THE NEW MAN?” ERIN ASKED HER FATHER AS they sat down to a breakfast of ham, fried eggs, and toast.

  “Not yet. But Sky had good things to say about him. He was up at first light to help with chores—he told Sky he’d been made to understand that he’d be expected to work for his meals.”

  “That speaks well for him.” Erin remembered telling Luke Maddox that if he wanted to eat he’d have to help with chores. He must have taken her at her word. “The question is, how well can he shoe horses?”

  “I guess we’ll find out. Sky had him set up in the small paddock with the spring foals. He’ll be starting on the other horses after the funeral, when there are more hands available to bring the horses in.”

  “He’s doing the foals?” Erin felt a twinge of alarm. “But foals aren’t shod. Horses don’t need shoes until they’re ready to work.”

  “He’ll just be trimming their hooves. Sky insists the man knows what he’s
doing. That’s good enough for me.”

  “Well, it isn’t good enough for me,” Erin said. “I want to see for myself what he’s doing.”

  “So what is it you want to see?” Rose, looking fit and rested, walked into the dining room and took a seat at the place that had been set for her.

  “Erin wants to check out the new farrier,” Will said. “If she can wait till you’ve had your breakfast, we can go together. All right, Erin?”

  “Sure.” Erin filled Rose’s coffee cup, then refilled her own.

  “Erin’s our number two horse expert on the ranch,” Will said. “Sky’s been training her since she was no higher than a horse’s belly. He claims she’s got a gift. Since she ruled out college to become a horse trainer, all I can say is I hope he’s right.”

  “Erin strikes me as a young lady who knows what she wants and how to get it. I’m sure she’ll do fine.” Rose added milk to her coffee, then turned to Erin. “I’ve done a little horse training myself. Maybe I can learn some things from you.”

  “Or we can learn from each other,” Erin said. “Wait till I show you my stallion, Tesoro. He’s spectacular.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing him.” Rose downed her coffee and a triangle of buttered toast. “I’m good. Let’s go.”

  The horse paddocks and adjoining pens were a hundred yards from the house, convenient to hay, water, and tack. The brood mares, foals, and stallions were kept here, as well as horses for the family and the regular mounts for the ranch hands. Other horses were corralled at the line camps out on the range, or allowed to graze loose until needed at roundup time.

  “What time will Beau be here?” Rose asked as they crossed the ranch yard. “I was fond of him as a boy. I’m looking forward to meeting the man he’s become.”

  “He’ll be here with his wife and daughter this afternoon,” Will said. “I’m guessing they won’t stay much past the funeral tomorrow. He’ll be glad to see you, but he’s pretty much washed his hands of this ranch—and me.”

  “I’m right sorry to hear that,” Rose said. “It would break Bull’s heart to know how things turned out between his two sons.”