by Janet Dailey
Bull pulled Susan to her feet. “Let him. With luck the dirt will soak up the rest of the smell and fall off as it dries. Right now we’ve got one more dog to wash.”
The second dog was even more rambunctious than its brother. By the time it was rinsed off and set free, Bull, Rose, and Susan were all soaked and filthy.
Bull turned Rose toward the house. “You get the first shower, young lady. And throw those clothes in the trash, shoes and all. They’re done for. And you can add tying the dogs up to your nighttime chores. We can’t have those rascals running off again. Now go!”
“All right. I’m going.” Rose scampered toward the house. Susan stood next to Bull, watching her go. “There’s something about that girl,” she said, thinking aloud. “She’s not from the hill country, is she? And I’m betting she’s not really Jasper’s niece.”
Alarm flickered across Bull’s face. “What makes you think that?”
“I met Jasper the night you shot your bull to save me. As I remember, that drawl of his was thick enough to butter bread. Rose doesn’t talk like that at all. She sounds as if she’s lived somewhere else, maybe had some education. Why did you lie to me, Bull?”
He sighed and shook his head. “The truth is we’re protecting the girl. She saw something she shouldn’t, and if the wrong people get wind of it, they’ll come after her. We can’t let them find out she’s here.” His blue eyes seemed to darken. “That’s why I lied. But now you know the truth. Can I trust you to keep our secret?”
“Of course.” Susan remembered eavesdropping on Bull’s earlier confrontation with Ham. He’d mentioned a witness. Now Rose’s presence made sense. But she wasn’t about to bring it up. Bull had been right. The less she knew, or pretended to know, the better. “I’d never do anything that might cause harm to a child,” she said.
“Then you’re not to say anything about her. Not even to your family.” He paused, as if leaving something unsaid. “If word gets out, Rose could die. I’m trusting you with her life. Understand?”
“Yes. Your secret is safe with me. Cross my heart.” She traced the imaginary X over her chest. Following his glance down, she realized that her wet shirt had molded to her skin. Her nipples jutted like dark nubs beneath the thin, almost transparent, fabric. Heat flooded her face. She wanted Bull to look at her, she realized. She wanted him to touch her . . . everywhere.
But wouldn’t that just open up a whole new Pandora’s Box of troubles?
Needing a diversion, she reached for the hose and turned on the water again. “You need a good hosing down,” she said, directing a stream at his hair, then moving it down to his clothes.
He laughed as the cold water flowed off him, washing away most of the mud and stench from the dog bath. “Now it’s your turn!” he said, grabbing the nozzle and turning the water on her. “You can’t go back home smelling like a swamp!”
Go back home. Yes, Susan reminded herself, she would have to show up at the Prescott Ranch like this. She was going to need a good story.
The water was cold, but it felt good to be clean—or at least cleaner. Bull turned off the faucet and dropped the hose. They stood face-to-face, the sun reflecting rainbows in the drops that clung to their hair and skin. Susan looked up into his eyes and saw the hunger—a hunger she felt to the warm, shimmering depths of her body. She was trembling. Her lips moved, releasing a whisper of need.
Without a word, he took her hand and led her into the shadows of the barn. With a little moan of surrender, she flung herself into his arms. He caught her close, molding her body to his as his mouth devoured her with kisses. They clung together, curves and hollows seeking and fitting as if their bodies had been fashioned just for each other.
Desire was a throbbing pulse in Susan’s body. She felt him against her, hard through his wet jeans. She wanted what he could give her—and what she sensed she could give him. But no, they both knew it wasn’t going to happen. Rose was nearby in the house, and the Rimrock’s hired hands could show up at any time.
Cradling her head against the hollow of his throat, Bull held her. He swallowed, finding his voice. “Don’t marry Ferg, Susan. Go home. Go to college. Wait for me to make this ranch a place you’ll be proud of. It’ll happen, I promise. And when it’s ready, I’ll come for you. I can’t ask you to wait, but—”
“But I will wait,” she said. “I’ll wait as long as I have to.”
He kissed her once more, then released her. “You’d better go,” he said.
Her mare was tethered nearby. Susan swung into the saddle and rode out into the sunlight. Looking back, she paused. Bull stood framed in the doorway of the barn, his shirt open, his hair damp and rumpled. She filled her sun-dazzled eyes with the image.
“Go,” he said.
Susan nudged the mare to a trot. “I love you, Bull,” she whispered as she rode away. But she knew he hadn’t heard.
* * *
The Prescott house showed no sign of life as Susan rode through the ranch gate. Her uncle’s big Cadillac was gone from its spot next to the porch. Ferg’s T-bird was in its usual place, but she could see no sign of Ferg, who often slept until midday. With luck, she’d be able to slip into the house unseen, shower, and change before anyone noticed her appearance and started asking questions—questions she could only answer with a lie.
How much longer could she stay in this house with these toxic people? It was as if she was being crushed by the pressure from all sides. She needed to get out. She needed to go home to Georgia, move out of her parents’ house, and find an apartment with some roommates.
But leaving here would mean leaving Bull.
The dimly lit stable was quiet except for the familiar sounds of horses drowsing in their stalls. Ordinarily, Susan would have turned her mare over to the stable hand to be rubbed down and put away. But the young man who’d readied her mount that morning was nowhere to be seen.
Never mind, she could take care of the mare herself. After unbuckling the cinch and straps, she lifted off the saddle, removed the pad and the bridle, checked the refilled feeder and water bucket, and let the mare into the stall.
She had stepped outside the stall to find a clean towel when she heard the bolt slide shut on the door and sensed a presence behind her. Turning around, she almost collided with Ferg.
She gasped as his strong hands seized her shoulders. His eyes glittered beneath heavy lids. She could hear him breathing in the stillness, the sound strangely terrifying.
“Let me go, Ferg,” she said. “If I scream, somebody’s going to hear me.”
“Nobody who’d care. Your folks went to Lubbock with my dad. And I gave the stable boy the rest of the day off.”
“I said, let me go!”
His grip tightened, fingers digging into her flesh. “Not until you tell me where you’ve been. Or maybe I know. You go out alone and come back smelling like a hog wallow—or maybe a Tyler. What’ve you got to say for yourself, girl?”
Susan willed herself not to show fear. “You and I aren’t engaged anymore. Where I go and what I do is none of your business. You don’t own me.”
One hand released her shoulder. The palm came up in a resounding slap that blackened her vision for an instant. Stars flashed like midsummer fireworks before her head cleared.
“You’re mine, you little bitch!” he snarled. “Your father promised me. We shook hands on it. So you might as well get used to the idea.”
Susan knew he could hurt her again, but she had to make a stand. She glared up at him. “My father had no right to make that promise. And I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth!”
The color darkened in his florid face—always a danger sign. “It’s Bull Tyler, isn’t it? The bastard’s put his filthy hands on you, and God knows what else! So help me, I’m going to kill him! But first—”
His arms yanked her against him. His mouth came down on hers in a bruising kiss. “No—” Susan began to struggle. “Stop it! Let me go!”
She fought him,
kicking, biting, and twisting, but she was no match for his strength. His hand ripped open her blouse and yanked her jeans off her hips. His weight pushed her down on her back, into the straw. One hand pinned her in place. The other fumbled with his belt. She screamed as he pushed into her, but she knew there would be no rescue. She could only lie sprawled beneath him, struggling as her world exploded in pain, humiliation, and a dark, helpless rage.
CHAPTER 12
SUSAN SCRUBBED HERSELF RAW IN THE SHOWER, SOAPING HER BODY again and again. But it was no use. She still felt dirty. She might be able to wash the last trace of Ferg’s rape off her skin. But it was embedded like a cancer in her memory. It would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Like a replaying loop, she recalled the moment he’d pulled back and sat up, leaving her bruised, bleeding, and utterly humiliated. “Served you right,” he’d said with a contemptuous laugh. “Just so you’ll know, I didn’t use a rubber. If I got you pregnant, tough luck.”
“I’ll tell my parents . . .” she’d muttered, her throat hoarse from crying.
“No, you won’t, sweetheart.” He ran a fingertip down her cheek in a mockery of tenderness. “If you do, I’ll tell them it was your fault. You came on to me. You wanted it. And they’ll believe me because they want to—because believing you would be . . . inconvenient for them.”
He was right, Susan conceded as she rubbed herself dry with a towel and put on clean clothes. When such things happened, it was almost always the woman who got blamed. She was asking for it, people would say. If she’d dressed or behaved differently, it would never have happened. Decent women didn’t get raped.
So she would say nothing. But she couldn’t stay here in Texas, not even if it meant leaving Bull.
Bull. Her heart contracted. She’d wanted him to be her first when the time was right. Now . . . no, she could never tell him what had happened. If he knew, he’d go after Ferg; and Ferg wouldn’t fight fair. He would find a way to backstab Bull and hurt him, or even destroy him. Whatever happened, she couldn’t involve Bull in this shameful nightmare. She would have to deal with it alone.
She had enough credit on her Master Charge to pay for the flight from Lubbock to Savannah. Getting to the airport would be a challenge. If she asked her parents to take her, they might try to stop her from leaving or, worse, invite Ferg to drive her. Any ranch employee she offered to pay would insist on getting permission from Ham. And involving Bull in any way was out of the question.
There was another option—riskier, but possible to do alone. She would buy her ticket over the phone, then make her escape plan. She had to believe it would work, that she would get home safely and somehow, later, find her way back to Bull.
* * *
Susan waited in her room until she heard Ferg’s car heading down the lane, most likely for town. Alone in the house, she called an airline ticket agent from the phone in Ham’s office. The earliest flight left at 6:15 that evening. She bought a single, one-way fare and packed her suitcase. The dirty clothes she’d worn that morning were bagged separately. She would toss them in a trash can along the way to the airport, where no one who knew her would ever find them.
Now came the risky part. If her parents, or Ferg, showed up before she left, she’d have a fight on her hands. She might not get away at all.
In Ham’s office, she wrote a note and left it open on his desk. The keys to the ranch vehicles hung on hooks inside one of the cabinet doors. By now Susan was familiar with them. She pocketed the spare key to one of the newer pickup trucks and walked outside. Leaving her suitcase next to the porch, she went back to the vehicle shed. The ranch employees knew her. No one questioned her when she took the truck, pulled it around to the front of the house, and loaded her suitcase inside. Minutes later she was headed up the highway.
The note she’d left told her family that she was going home and instructed Ham that his truck could be picked up in long-term parking. The spare key and the parking ticket would be inside.
She didn’t have Bull’s phone number, or anyway to get word to him now. But tonight, at home, she would get his number from information and try to call him. If she couldn’t reach him any other way, she would write him a letter.
She was on her way. She could go back to Savannah and take time to rest and heal while she made plans to move out of her parents’ house. She was stronger than what had happened today, Susan told herself—strong enough to put the nightmare behind her and move on with her life.
An unexpected tear trickled down her face. A hidden voice whispered that she was still in denial—that the sick horror of what Ferg had done to her was still sinking in. Well, let it sink. Whatever it took, she would push her way through this and come back to Bull a whole woman, ready to love him.
Everything would be all right, she told herself.
But what would she do if she was pregnant with Ferg’s baby?
* * *
Bull lay awake, gazing through the open window at the midnight sky. He was tired after a long day’s work, but he was wide awake, the night too warm, the bedsheet wrapped around his body from hours of tossing and turning.
Today he had held Susan in his arms and made her a promise—that if she’d wait for him, he would make this ranch a place she could be proud of. It was a promise he meant to keep at any cost. But he was just beginning to realize what he’d taken on.
For the past two years he’d put his money and effort into the barn and other outbuildings, the fences, the watering tanks, and the new windmill. But a quality woman like Susan would need a quality home, and the ranch house was as ugly and dilapidated as it had been on the day he’d first come home from the rodeo.
Williston Tyler had designed and constructed the house for his beloved wife. When she’d died in childbirth, the grieving man had lost all interest in finishing the place. To this day, it remained as he’d left it—the outside covered with cheap “temporary” siding, the windows unframed, the walls bare, the floors little more than rough planks, the kitchen barely functional.
The house was solidly built, with a gray tile roof, a broad front porch, four bedrooms, a dining room, and two baths. But making it as fine as Susan deserved, even if he did all the work himself, would cost more than he dared think about.
He’d be selling off more than half his herd this fall, keeping only the pregnant cows, the immature calves and yearlings, and the two young stud bulls to winter over. There’d be money coming in, but much of it would have to go for wages, feed, equipment, and maintenance on the ranch. There wouldn’t be much cash left for the house. To have it ready for Susan by next summer would take a miracle—and Bull refused to believe in miracles unless he could somehow make one of his own.
Nothing was sure in this life. Susan could easily change her mind about him. She could meet a more promising man at college or, God forbid, decide to go ahead and marry Ferg. But he had to believe she would come back to him. Only that belief would give him the resolve to finish the house.
But he couldn’t even start without a way to earn more money. He turned over in bed, racking his brain for a plan.
That plan had just dawned on him when the telephone rang.
The phone was in the ranch office. Trailing the tangled sheet, Bull stumbled down the dark hallway. He hoped to hell it was a wrong number. News that came in the middle of the night tended to be bad.
He grabbed the receiver in mid-ring. “Tyler,” he muttered.
“Bull, this is Susan.” There was a faint crackle on the line. Her voice was faint, but something in her tone alarmed him.
“Are you all right, Susan? Where are you?”
“I’m . . . fine.” He heard the hesitation and sensed that she was anything but fine. “I’m in Savannah, at the house,” she said. “I flew home alone. Sorry, I couldn’t tell you I was going. I just couldn’t stand it there anymore.”
“What happened—something Ferg did?” Bull’s grip tightened on the receiver.
“It wasn’t just Ferg.
It was everybody—and everything. So much pressure all around. I had to leave without telling anybody.”
“Then I’m glad you got away. But I hope you’re planning to come back.”
“Of course I am. Isn’t that what I promised?”
He faked a laugh. “Just reminding you. The ranch will be waiting, and so will I.” Should he tell her about his plan to finance the completion of the house? He hesitated. She was already under enough stress. He could sense it in the pitch of her voice. Something was wrong—something she wasn’t ready to share with him.
“My parents will be here in a couple of days,” she said. “Don’t try to call or write. That could cause trouble for both of us.”
“That’s fine. This isn’t a good time to push anything,” he said, realizing he had to tell her regardless. “Just so you know, I’ll be going back on the rodeo circuit for the next few weekends.”
The catch of her breath told him she was worried. “Do you have to? I’ll have nightmares thinking about you up on those bulls.”
“The ranch needs the cash. I’ll be all right.”
“Promise you’ll be careful.”
“I’m always careful. I just wanted to let you know where I’ll be in case you can’t get in touch.”
“I’d better go,” she said.
Bull knew he had to let her. “Stay safe,” he said.
“You too.”
I love you, Susan. He might have said it, but the phone had gone silent. She had ended the call.
Was she having second thoughts about a man with so little to offer? Susan was young—maybe too young to know her own mind. But he couldn’t let himself give in to doubt. She was the only woman he’d ever wanted. Whatever it took, he would make her his.
* * *
“You’re going to do what? Are you out of your dad-blamed mind, Bull Tyler?”
Jasper’s reaction, after hearing about Bull’s plan to raise money and fix up the house for Susan, was exactly what Bull had expected. He was ready with his reply.
