Texas Fierce

by Janet Dailey

  As they crossed the parking lot to the truck, Susan gave Bull a knowing look. “That was a dirty trick if I ever saw one, Bull Tyler.”

  “It was, wasn’t it.” Bull opened the door and moved the pizza boxes out of the way. “And did you really promise your father you’d be home by one, Miss Susan Rutledge?”

  She raised a delicate eyebrow. “Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies.”

  Bull reined in a chuckle as he helped her into the truck and gave her the pizza boxes to hold. “I did promise to drive you home,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean we have to go the short way.”

  He closed the door and walked around the truck to the driver’s side. As he climbed in he saw Ferg by the Thunderbird, scowling down at his flat tires. Bull gave him a wave as he roared out of the parking lot.

  He had no expectations of the ride back to the Prescott Ranch with Susan. But he sensed that the two of them had formed a bond two summers ago. He had no reason to trust her, let alone like her. All the same, he couldn’t deny that the bond was there, or that it was powerful.

  * * *

  Ferg mouthed a string of curses as Bull Tyler drove off with his fiancée. It was bad enough that Bull had flattened his tires—Ferg had no doubt about that. But the fact that Susan had asked Bull to drive her home was like rubbing salt on a burn. He didn’t believe that excuse about her father for a minute. She’d wanted to go with Bull. It was like a conspiracy between the two of them—which didn’t make sense. As far as he was aware, they barely knew each other. Maybe she was just trying to make him jealous. If so, damn her, it was working.

  Not that he fancied himself in love with her. Susan had been like a kid sister for so long that it was hard to think of her any other way. But as long as he was being pushed to marry, he could do worse than a beauty with a father who was about to die and leave her a fortune. And he wouldn’t have to spend time trolling for sex. Unless he was in the mood for variety, which was bound to happen, what he needed would be right there in his bed.

  He glared down the street where Bull’s truck had disappeared around the corner. What really ticked him off was that Susan was his. As long as she had his ring on her finger, no other man had the right to touch her—especially a lowlife like Bull Tyler.

  If Susan didn’t know that, maybe it was time she understood. Maybe it was time to teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget.

  * * *

  Bull felt Susan’s eyes on him as he drove down Main Street. He wanted to say something clever, but he’d never been one for small talk, especially with pretty girls. He’d taken a gamble, flattening Ferg’s tires in the hope that she’d need a ride home. That it had paid off exactly the way he’d hoped was almost too much to take in.

  “You haven’t changed much, Bull.” She broke the silence as he turned onto the highway out of town.

  “I can’t say the same for you,” he said. “I was surprised to see that ring on your finger.”

  “Oh, this.” She twisted the ring, fidgeting with the diamond, which must’ve been at least a full carat. “I know I don’t owe you an explanation. But if you want to hear it, I’ll give you one.”

  “Go on.”

  She took a ragged breath. “Ever since Ferg and I were children, our fathers have made it clear that they wanted us to marry someday—keeping my father’s cotton and lumber businesses and Uncle Hamilton’s Texas ranch in the family. Now that I’m almost nineteen . . .” Her words trailed off. She shrugged.

  “That sounds like something out of the Dark Ages.”

  “I suppose it might sound that way.” She shifted the pizza boxes on her knees. “Bull, my father has a weak heart. The doctors have said that, with treatment, he could live years. But if his condition takes a bad turn, he could go anytime.”

  “I’m sorry, Susan.” Bull meant it. Cliff Rutledge had struck him as a snob, but it was clear that Susan cared about him. “Where’s your mother in all this?”

  “My mother and father are still married. But they pretty much live separate lives. She has her society friends and her cocktail parties, where she usually drinks so much that she can’t get out of bed the next day. She likes showing off, and I’m sure she’ll enjoy planning a fancy wedding for me. But we aren’t close.”

  “I’m sorry.” Bull steeled himself against showing too much sympathy. Susan hadn’t had an easy life. But this was the girl who’d forced him to kill his prize bull, flirted with him at Ham Prescott’s dinner, and was now engaged to his rival.

  “I remember hearing about your father,” she said. “Did you learn any more about what happened to him?”

  Bull had, but he wasn’t ready to share the story. “Can’t say I’ve had much time for that,” he said. “But it still eats on me. I won’t be at ease until I know how it happened.”

  “My father knows he’s ill.” Susan picked up the thread of her story. “That’s one of the reasons he came back here to Texas. He wanted to see my future settled, with someone to help manage my affairs. Yesterday he took Ferg aside in the library. They talked a while, and then Ferg came out and proposed.”

  “And you said yes, just like that?”

  “I said yes to being engaged, but I insisted on a year to go to college at Savannah State University. That way I’ll be close to home if Dad needs me. The understanding is that Ferg and I will be married next summer. My father’s promised he’ll be there to walk me down the aisle.”

  “So you’ve got it all worked out.” Bull couldn’t disguise the sarcasm in his voice. What was it to him if Susan wanted to marry a jackass like Ferg, who’d likely burn through her fortune faster than fire through dry prairie grass?

  “If that’s how you want to put it, yes,” she said. “My father needs to know that I’ll be all right. And he needs something to look forward to. That’s what I’m trying to give him.”

  Bull thought about Ferg and his reputation as a womanizer. Susan wouldn’t be getting much of a bargain. But maybe she knew that. Maybe she’d figured that being mistress of a big ranch would be worth putting up with a lazy, skirt-chasing husband. As for Ferg, he’d be getting the beautiful, spirited heiress to a fortune. Now that was what most men would call a trophy!

  But what did it matter? Didn’t most marriages involve some kind of bargain—for sex, for security and social standing, for children, even for love, whatever that was? As long as both parties knew what they were getting—and what they were giving in return—maybe that was all right. But would it be enough for a woman like Susan?

  Bull had taken a back road that wound among fields and small farms. Now he pulled off the road beneath some overhanging willows. Shutting off the engine, he sat in silence for a moment. The willow leaves made dappled shade over the truck. A light summer breeze rippled across the alfalfa fields and stirred a lock of Susan’s hair.

  “I haven’t forgotten what I promised you,” she said.

  Bull’s pulse slammed. “Well, for what it’s worth, I haven’t chewed tobacco in the past year.”

  “Good, because I’ve given up cigarettes.” The pupils of her eyes were like silver-rimmed pools. Her satiny lips parted as she leaned toward him. The pizza boxes on her lap, along with the gear box between the seats, formed a barrier between their bodies. But when he pushed toward her, and felt the first brush of her lips, he forgot about everything except kissing her.

  Her soft, moist mouth clung deliciously to his, lingering for breathless seconds. She tasted of sweetness and chocolate and pure, female sensuality. The flicker of her tongue against his sent a hot jolt of arousal down through his body. Bull savored the aching hunger, wanting his hands on her, and more, but knowing this was the best he was going to get.

  They drew apart, both of them slightly out of breath. Bull leaned back in the seat and started the truck. In the awkward silence, he forced himself to chuckle. “Well, Miss Susan, all I can say is, when you gave your word to do it right, you weren’t kidding.”

  She reached across the gear box and touche
d his arm. “Take me home, Bull,” she said.

  Bull drove back up the lane toward the highway. He’d told himself there was nothing more to say. But there was one question he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

  “Do you love him, Susan?”

  She gazed ahead, through the dusty windshield. “I understand him. He’s like a little lost boy who doesn’t know his way. I suppose that’s good enough for starters. The rest will come in time.”

  “And does Ferg love you?”

  She glanced at him with a bitter smile. “You’ll have to ask him that question, won’t you?”

  Bull had no answer. Minutes later he pulled up to the ranch gate and went around the truck to open her door. He held the pizza boxes while she climbed out to the ground. “Thanks for the lift,” she said.

  “Anytime.” He watched her walk toward the house, her woman’s stride all grace and power.

  He would enjoy winning her away from Ferg, he thought. But what would he be winning her to? He had nothing to offer a woman like Susan. The sooner he forgot her, the better for them both.

  Cursing the memory of that blistering kiss—the kiss that had made him want her—Bull climbed into the truck and drove back to the Rimrock.

  * * *

  As the truck pulled away, Susan turned back to watch it vanish in a cloud of summer dust. She wouldn’t be seeing Bull Tyler again. Not alone at least. With Ferg hating him, and her Uncle Ham wanting his land, she’d be wise to keep her distance from the proud rancher. Any attention on her part would only give the Prescotts an excuse to harass him.

  She had wanted to kiss Bull, and she wasn’t sorry. It had been one small, selfish act of rebellion in her regimented life. For the few seconds their lips had clung, she had felt truly alive. But she couldn’t allow it to happen again. Too many people could be hurt by the consequences.

  So she would behave herself. She would be a dutiful daughter, a considerate niece, and a faithful fiancée. She would do her best to forget that soul-stirring kiss in Bull’s truck. And she would accept the reality that her own wishes didn’t matter—at least not to her family. She was only a woman, surrounded by strong-willed men who wanted to use her.

  Could she really marry Ferg, knowing he might not be faithful and knowing that he’d already sired an illegitimate son? She’d told Bull the truth. She didn’t love Ferg, but she understood him. She could only hope that underneath that brash, selfish exterior was a good man.

  Brushing her hair back from her face, she continued on to the house. Sunflowers grew in patches along the path. She paused to pick some. She would trim the stems and put them in a vase to cheer the house’s gloomy, masculine interior.

  Only as she picked the last flower and turned toward the porch did she see him. Ferg was standing on the top step, waiting with his arms folded—waiting for her.

  CHAPTER 8

  FERG LOOMED OVER SUSAN FROM THE TOP STEP, HIS EXPRESSION A stormy pout. “What took you so long?” he demanded.

  She lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed. “We drove the back way. It was pleasant out, and we had time.”

  “Time before one o’clock, when you promised to meet your father? It’s one-fifteen, Susan. And your father’s gone with my dad to look at a new front loader for the hay barn. They were going to have lunch in Lubbock. So, what do you have to say to that?”

  She sighed, knowing she was cornered. “All right, I made up an excuse. Bull is a friend. I hadn’t seen him in two years, and I wanted a chance to catch up.”

  “A friend?” He came down a step, anger reddening his face. “What the hell kind of a friend is he? By my reckoning the only time you’d spent with him was when you were with me.”

  “That’s why I didn’t think you’d mind.” She took a breath. Her pulse was racing. “How did you get home so soon? I thought it would take a while to get the tires fixed.”

  “The garage sent somebody right over. It didn’t take fifteen minutes to pump up one tire and put the spare on the other wheel. You should’ve waited, Susan. And you shouldn’t have lied to me.”

  She met his gaze, speaking in a calm voice. “If you’re expecting an apology, you’re not going to get one. I may be wearing your ring, Ferg, but you don’t own me.”

  He was down the steps in two strides, his hands gripping her shoulders hard enough to cause pain. “Listen to me! Bull Tyler is trash, just like his father. You’re not to have anything to do with him. And you’re never to lie to me again. Understand?”

  Susan had never seen him like this. Momentarily stunned, she stared at him.

  “Say you understand! Say you’re mine and nobody else’s!” His grip tightened. The sunflowers fell from her arms and scattered on the walk.

  “Let . . . me . . . go!” The words exploded out of her as she twisted away from him and stepped out of reach. “People break engagements all the time. I don’t have to marry you, Ferg!”

  “Maybe not.” His demeanor had changed. He was smiling now, as if he’d won some kind of victory. “But before you give that ring back, you might ask yourself what our breaking up might do to your father’s health.”

  Susan exhaled her anger, knowing he was right. She couldn’t give up on this engagement. Not if it would make a difference to her father. And despite the things she knew Ferg had done, he did have good in him. He could be kind and gentle—she’d seen it herself. Maybe with patience and affection, she could help bring out those finer qualities.

  Needing a diversion, she bent to gather up the sunflowers she’d dropped. They looked bruised and had lost a few petals, but maybe some water could still revive them.

  “I’m sorry, Susan.” Ferg crouched beside her, handing her a few of the flowers he’d picked up. “I didn’t mean to lose my temper. But I have to know we can trust each other. To have you lie and then go off like that with another man, especially him—it made me crazy.”

  “I’m sorry, too. In the future I’ll remember that I need to be honest with you. And I’ll do my best to make you happy.” Susan had spoken carefully, keeping to what she knew was true. But she couldn’t help wondering how Ferg would handle her being in Savannah for the coming school year, mingling with male students. Possessive as he appeared to be, would he pressure her to have the wedding sooner—even this summer?

  If so, he was going to have a fight on his hands. She wasn’t ready to get married yet, not before she’d had a taste of independence.

  But what would she do if her father took Ferg’s side—especially if his health was failing?

  Ferg’s big hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers weaving into her hair, holding her in place. “You and I were meant to be together, Susan,” he muttered. “Never forget that.”

  His mouth captured hers in a forceful kiss. Susan responded, closing her eyes, softening her lips, and meeting the insistent thrust of his tongue. But it was all an act. What she felt was . . . nothing.

  * * *

  Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Bull used a wrench to tighten the bolts on a steel cross brace. The sun was blistering hot, the task seemingly endless. If he’d known how much time the new windmill tower was going to take, or how much work it was going to involve, he would have gladly forked over the extra money for a crew to erect the structure in a day or two. As it was, he’d been at it for more than a week. Working day and night, grabbing sleep and food as he could. The boys, Chester and Patrick, helped when he needed them, but much of their time was spent taking care of the stock.

  Because the old windmill was still needed, the new structure had to be assembled next to it. When it was ready, the old tower would be taken down, the new one raised and moved over the well, anchored in the ground, and rigged with the pump. If everything went as it should, the new windmill would supply good water to the house and stock tanks through the next generation.

  If everything went as it should.

  The worry gnawed at Bull’s gut. Every day the flow of water from the pump seemed weaker. Was it because of the ramshackle w
indmill or, as the water table shrank in the long drought, was the well that had sustained the ranch for as long as he could remember finally going dry?

  He wouldn’t know for sure until the new windmill was in place and working. But he’d already decided to anchor the legs in the ground with gravel instead of concrete—less stable, but essential if the costly structure had to be moved.

  He reached for another cross brace, fitted it into place, and took another bolt out of the tool pouch at his belt. After weighing the options, he’d decided to assemble the tower on the ground, then raise it into place with ropes—safer and faster for a man working alone. He could only hope it would be strong enough to hold up to the pulling and shifting it would take to get it into place.

  Sweat soaked his shirt and trickled from under his hat to form salty rivulets down his face. Hell, he barely had an idea of what he was doing. He was winging it from one day to the next, the work, the money, the stock . . .

  When he could manage to sleep, he had nightmares about everything going wrong at once. He would wake from those black dreams in a cold sweat, pull himself together, and get back to work.

  What he wouldn’t give to have Jasper here. But Jasper, by now, would be settling down to a peaceful life in the hill country, with Sally, his lifelong sweetheart. Bull could only wish them the happiness they deserved.

  He was bending down to tighten one more bolt when the snort of a horse startled him. Reflexively, he reached for the loaded .44 at his hip, but then he saw that it was Susan, riding across the ranch yard on a fine bay mare.

  “Hellfire, I could’ve shot you.” He wiped the hair out of his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “I had some time on my hands, so I thought I’d pay you a visit.” She was dressed in a light denim shirt, with faded jeans and pricey-looking boots. A battered hat, likely borrowed, shaded her face. The diamond on her finger flashed in the glaring sun.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” he asked, knowing he shouldn’t be glad to see her, and angry at himself that he was.