Texas Fierce

by Janet Dailey

  Swearing, he pulled out of the lot and roared up the road. In his rearview mirror, he saw the good reverend come out on the porch and shake an angry fist at him.

  CHAPTER 11

  SUSAN’S MOTHER STIRRED A TEASPOON OF SUGAR INTO HER JASMINE tea and took a cautious sip. “You’ve been avoiding me, Susan,” she said. “I’ve been here for days and I’ve hardly seen you.”

  Susan sighed. She’d come downstairs before the breakfast hour, hoping to grab a quick cup of coffee and disappear for a morning ride. But no such luck. Vivian had never been an early riser, but she’d made an exception this morning.

  “We’ve barely had a chance to talk.” Even at this hour, Vivian was put together for the day. Her still-pretty face was made up like a movie star’s, her short blond hair freshly dyed and fluffed to perfection. Costumed in a turquoise silk blouse, tan skirt, and a coordinating neck scarf, she was the picture of a gracefully aging Southern belle.

  “Sit down, dear.” She tapped a manicured finger on the tablecloth. “You’re looking peaked. Are you taking care of yourself?”

  “I’m fine. Just need some coffee.” Susan turned toward the swinging door that connected the dining room to the kitchen.

  “You need more than coffee. Sit down.” She rang a small brass handbell that stood next to her plate—a bell that Susan hadn’t seen in her entire time here. The aging cook stepped through the door and stood at attention as if she’d trained him, which she probably had.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Get this girl some coffee with cream and some bacon and eggs with wheat toast. Pronto!”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He vanished and returned a moment later with a cup of steaming coffee and a small pitcher of cream for Susan, who’d given up on leaving and taken a seat. “Thank you, Joe,” she said.

  Vivian shook her head as the old man returned to the kitchen. “What have I taught you about thanking servants?” she scolded Susan. “You’re supposed to ignore them. They’re just doing their jobs.”

  “Mother, this is Texas,” Susan said. “It’s good manners to be nice to everybody, even the hired help.”

  “Well, I taught you better.” Vivian spooned more sugar into her tea, tasted it again, and nodded her silent approval. “Your father told me why you broke your engagement.”

  “Good. Then I won’t have to explain it all over again. I can’t believe Dad tried to talk me into changing my mind.”

  Vivian sighed. “You’re very young, my dear. When you’ve experienced more of life, you’ll realize that happiness doesn’t always come in a perfect package. Sometimes we have to accept the bad to get the good.”

  Susan had just finished stirring cream into her coffee. The spoon clattered to the table. “You’re agreeing with him? I can’t believe this!”

  “Think about it, dear. Ferguson is a handsome young man, and he seems bright enough to be a good manager. One day he’ll own this ranch. Combine that with what you’ll inherit, and the two of you could be extremely wealthy. Think of it—anything you want. You could replace this hovel with a beautiful new home. You could travel, have the best of everything for you and your children—”

  “Mother, don’t you know what he did? Not just in the past, but after we got engaged. I caught him coming in after midnight. He didn’t even try to deny that he’d been with a woman.”

  “He’s young, dear. And young men have needs.”

  “That’s what he said! And he told me that if I wanted him to stay home, I could take care of those needs myself. That was when I gave his ring back.”

  Vivian nibbled a slice of the dry toast that the cook had set on the table, frowned, and put it back on the plate. “As I said, Ferguson is young and running on male hormones. Once you’re married, and he has you to keep him happy, he’ll settle down.”

  “Did Dad?”

  Vivian’s expression froze. She took a slow sip of her tea. “Let’s just say that I’ve never been sorry I chose him. He’s given me a good life. And he gave me you.”

  “I see.” Susan poked at the overcooked bacon and undercooked eggs on her plate. The last thing she felt like was eating. She understood the life her mother had created—the friends, the parties, the shopping. But it wasn’t the kind of life, or the kind of marriage, she wanted for herself.

  “I need to get away from here, Mother,” she said. “Take me back to Savannah with you. Take me home.”

  Vivian looked alarmed, then shook her head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I have some pressing engagements, and somebody has to stay here to look after your father.”

  “He could fly with us. Surely he’s well enough by now. We could all go home together. And I could spend some time getting ready for school in the fall.”

  “About school,” Vivian said, and Susan’s heart sank. “With things so uncertain between you and Ferguson, maybe you should stay here and try to work things out. You could even get married this summer, here in Texas. After all, why should you need to go to college? You’ll have plenty of money as it is. And it’s not good for a woman to have more education than her husband. It makes him feel inferior, less like a man.”

  “Mother, you aren’t listening.” Susan rose from her chair to face her mother. “I don’t want to marry Ferg. I don’t love him. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t love me. All I want is to go home and go to college.”

  “Well.” Vivian’s teacup clattered into its saucer. “You’re not doing either unless we give you the money.”

  “I’ve got my credit card.”

  “Which your father pays—or his accountant does. That won’t get you very far. As long as we’re holding the purse strings, we’ll be the ones calling the shots, honey.”

  “Then I’ll leave on my own. I’ll get a job. People do things like that all the time.”

  “Get a job?” Vivian laughed. “What kind of job? Scrubbing floors? Slinging hamburgers? We raised you to be a lady and to marry well. If you’re smart and keep your looks, that’s all you’ll ever need.”

  “Mother, I don’t know what time warp you’re living in, but this is the twentieth century. I’m almost nineteen years old, and I don’t have to do what you say.”

  Susan walked out of the dining room, grabbed her hat off the rack, and left through the front door. By the time she’d crossed the yard to the stable, she was fighting tears. She loved her parents. She’d always tried to please them, but marrying Ferg would turn her into her mother—an unhappy woman whose entire life was built on appearances. She wanted something more—something real and meaningful, even if it meant not getting married at all.

  The young stable hand had learned to anticipate her morning rides. Her bay mare was saddled and waiting. She mounted up and took the road that wound among the pastures. The morning was still cool. A meadowlark trilled from a fence post. A flock of blackbirds lifted from a willow tree that overhung the creek. A few wispy clouds drifted in a clear sky that would become brutal as the sun rose high. She wasn’t sure where she was going this morning. She only knew that she didn’t want to go back and face her parents, or Ferg, for a very long time.

  * * *

  Two days ago, Bull had spent a half day readying the old McAdoo parcel for cattle watering. While Jasper took Rose to Lubbock for more clothes shopping, Bull had taken the two young cowhands in the truck. They’d spent several hot, dirty hours taking down parts of the fence, knocking over what was left of the burned shack and outbuildings, and burying the charred remains of the old man’s corpse under a fallen cottonwood, where the cattle wouldn’t trample it. One of the boys had improvised a wooden cross and planted it in the loose earth. It wasn’t much of a grave, but at least if Rose wanted to visit it, there’d be something to see.

  They’d dug a shallow pit to bury whatever wouldn’t burn, raked it over, and cleared the creek bank to make room for drinking cattle. Bull had half-expected to see Ham Prescott’s hired guns come riding through the trees. He’d strapped on his .44 and stowed the bi
g shotgun behind the seat in the truck, loaded with shells he’d found in the ranch house. But no one had shown up to bother them. So far, Ham was keeping his word.

  The next day, when they’d run the cattle to water in batches of two dozen at a time, Bull had been extra wary. Leaving Rose to watch the ranch house, he’d armed Jasper and the boys and brought them along to make sure no Rimrock animals crossed the creek. Again, there’d been no trouble. But Bull couldn’t help being nervous. Things were going too well. It wasn’t like Ham to give up without a fight.

  He’d already started thinking of a safer and more efficient way to use the water. If he could dig and line a catch basin to make a watering tank, or even install a metal one, a safe distance from the creek, he could then dig a ditch to fill it from the creek—or better yet, bury a length of PVC pipe with a hidden head gate next to the creek. For the time it would take to fill the tank, the creek could be diverted, say, at night, when the reduced flow to the Prescott Ranch wouldn’t likely be noticed.

  Jasper had reacted to the idea with caution. “Ham’s not gonna be too happy if he finds out you’re blockin’ the creek.”

  “Ham can’t touch us as long as we’ve got Rose. We’ve got him over a barrel.”

  “That’s what worries me. Don’t underestimate the old buzzard. He didn’t live this long by bein’ stupid.”

  Bull had let the matter rest with Jasper. But he was already drawing plans and making estimates on renting a backhoe to dig the tank versus buying a prefabricated metal one.

  This morning he would make some phone calls and get some bids. At least it was a start. But the creek water was only a stop-gap solution to a long-term problem. If he was to grow his herd in the seasons ahead, he was going to need an ample source of water and more land—enough water and land to start growing hay for a winter supply.

  After a breakfast of ham and scrambled eggs from Rose’s hens, he wandered outside. The ranch yard was quiet this morning. Jasper had left early and taken the boys to water the cattle. Rose was cleaning up in the kitchen. There was no sign of the dogs. Maybe they’d gone with Jasper.

  “Right pretty day, isn’t it?” Rose had come out to stand beside him. She had dressed in her old clothes, after insisting that the jeans and shirts she’d picked out in town were too nice for work. She’d changed into her new clothes only long enough to launder the old ones.

  “Gonna get hot,” Bull said.

  “It’s pretty anyway,” she replied. “Where’s Jasper?”

  “He’s herding the cows to the creek for a drink.”

  “My grandpa’s creek?”

  “Uh-huh.” Bull could sense where this was heading. He’d avoided this conversation as long as he could. But there was no getting out of it now.

  “Jasper told me my grandpa got buried.”

  “That’s right. We buried him partway under that big fallen tree. One of the boys made a cross for the grave.”

  “Can I go see it sometime? I’d like to take some flowers.”

  “Sure.” But he’d have to make certain she wasn’t seen by the Prescotts, Bull reminded himself. “The house got burned down. But we cleaned the place up nice. The grave looks right peaceful.”

  The windmill turned slowly in the silence. “That land where the creek is belonged to my grandpa,” Rose said. “Who does it belong to now?”

  Bull had a ready answer. “It’ll be yours when you grow up. But until then we’re taking care of it for you, making sure that nobody else comes and takes it over.”

  “Oh.” She sounded a little skeptical, Bull thought. The girl was sharp. Sooner or later there was bound to be a reckoning over that land. But for now, it was legally his, and nothing she could say or do was going to change that.

  She might have said more, but just then two large, furry forms came bounding across the yard. The dogs had clearly been on an adventure. They romped closer, ears perked, tongues lolling, coats matted with mud.

  “Oh no!” Rose groaned. “They’re filthy! And just smell them!”

  Even at the distance of a stone’s throw, the rank odor was unmistakable. No mystery about where the two rascals had been. They smelled like the mucky swamp at the edge of their neighbors’ property a mile to the south. Judging from the foul aroma, the happy pair had rolled and played in the fetid mud and dug up heaven knows what, reveling in the scents they loved.

  “They can’t stay like this,” Rose said. “Keep them here while I go for a tub and some soap.”

  “Maybe we should just shoot them and dig a hole.” Bull was only half joking. Rose shot him a glare over her shoulder. He sighed and rolled up his sleeves. He’d probably have to burn his clothes afterward, but even he couldn’t let the girl take on this dirty job alone.

  After calling the dogs over to the outside tap, he began hosing them down. The well was still flowing, but every drop was precious. He hated wasting water on the blasted animals, but something had to be done.

  By the time Rose got back with a bar of soap, a scrubbing brush, and the old tin washtub, Bull had rinsed off the worst of the mud. But the dogs still reeked. They would need a good sudsing and some time in the sun before the stink was gone.

  Tethering one dog to the water pipe, they coaxed the other into the tub and began working the soap into its fur. They were just rinsing off the suds, laughing a little and struggling not to inhale too deeply, when a rider appeared, coming from the direction of the Prescott Ranch. Bull’s heart dropped as he recognized the bay mare and the slim, erect figure in the saddle.

  It was Susan.

  * * *

  When she’d mounted up that morning, Susan hadn’t planned a visit to the Rimrock. But as she rode among the pastures and hayfields, emotions churning from the clash with her mother, she’d realized she needed an ally—someone who seemed to see her as she saw herself. She needed Bull Tyler.

  But why? What was Bull to her? A friend? But no. Even now, the memory of their torrid kisses stirred dark pools of heat inside her. Bull was not a friend—and not a lover. But he made her feel something she needed to feel again.

  Ferg’s stinging revelation that Bull had slept with the sexy brunette waitress—which Bull hadn’t even bothered to deny—had left her stunned and hurt. Now she found herself wondering why. She had no claim on Bull. If her parents were to be believed, he was only guilty of doing what men do. So why should she care so much? Why did she find herself wanting to march up to the woman and slap her face hard enough to leave an ugly bruise?

  Was she in love with him?

  She was still wrestling with her emotions when she rode into the yard and saw Bull with a young girl and two large, shaggy dogs, one dog in a washtub. Whatever she’d expected to find, this wasn’t it. Maybe she’d come at an awkward time.

  She was about to turn the mare and go when Bull looked up and gave her a wave. It was too late to leave. Returning the wave, she rode closer. Now she could see that Bull and the girl were bathing the dogs.

  “Do you need any help?” Deciding to be friendly, Susan dismounted, dropped the reins, and walked closer. That was when a nauseating odor stopped her like a wall. “Oh, my heavens!” she murmured.

  Bull gave her a grin. He was wet to the skin. His clothes were plastered to his body. His dark hair sparkled with water drops. “You might want to keep your distance,” he said. “These blasted dogs had a little too much fun last night. Rolled in some swamp muck. Sorry about the smell.”

  Susan led her horse into the shade of the barn, looped the reins over a hitching rail, and walked back far enough to keep from being splashed. Was Bull glad to see her? She couldn’t be sure. And what was the girl doing here? She looked too young to be anybody’s wife or sweetheart. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” she asked.

  “Sorry,” Bull said. “This is Rose. Jasper, my foreman, is her uncle. She’s come from the hill country to stay with him and help out. Rose, this is Susan. She’s visiting with the neighbors.”

  “Hi, Rose,” Susan said.
“Sorry we can’t shake hands.”

  “Hi. I’m pleased to meet you.” The girl sounded shy. Even soaking wet and dressed in ragged clothes that looked far too big, she was a pretty little thing. Her long-lashed, hazel eyes were set below striking black brows, her dark-blond hair caught back in a ponytail. Only when she turned away did Susan see the birthmark that spilled like a wine stain down the left border of her face. Even with that, Rose could be a beauty someday, she thought.

  Bull and Rose worked together to wash the dog in the tub, Bull holding the big mutt still while Rose soaped and scrubbed its fur. Despite the horrific smell, which Susan was slowly getting used to, they almost seemed to be having fun. Crazy as it was, she found herself wanting to get involved.

  “If you need an extra pair of hands, I could man the hose for you,” she offered. “That way you wouldn’t have to get up to turn it on and off.”

  “You’re sure?” Bull’s gaze took in her spotless white linen shirt, freshly washed jeans, and designer boots. “There’s no way you won’t get wet and smelly.”

  “It’s only clothes. Besides, you two look like you’re having way too much fun.” Susan picked up the hose and took her place at the faucet. Close up, the mucky odor was even more powerful, but she resolved to ignore it. Somehow, helping Bull wash his dogs felt like exactly what she needed.

  The dog in the tub was covered in soap suds. By now the big mutt was getting restless. It began to struggle, trying to climb out of the tub. Bull grabbed it around the neck. “Hose him off!” he shouted at Susan.

  Susan turned the hose on full blast, stepped in close, and aimed the spray at the dog. Bull was getting soaked, as well. He was swearing and laughing. Rose was laughing, too.

  Wriggling loose from Bull’s arms, the dog clambered out of the tub. Susan managed to give the mutt one last blast with the hose before it shook its coat. Smelly water flew in all directions. Dripping wet, Susan collapsed in helpless laughter as the dog raced across the yard.

  Rose turned off the tap. “Uh-oh. Now he’s going to roll in the dirt,” she said.