by Janet Dailey
Not that he had any intention of marrying Edith. Especially not while there was a chance of getting Susan and her daddy’s cotton fields. He’d been disappointed when she’d run home to Georgia. But the woman would come around—especially if he’d managed to get her pregnant. Meanwhile, there was no reason he couldn’t have a little fun with the preacher’s daughter.
His thoughts shifted as he neared the Tyler place. One of the men had reported some nighttime digging on the property. That could mean only one thing. Someone was planning to steal the water. It was time to make Bull Tyler squirm, and Ferg planned to enjoy every minute of it.
* * *
Bull wasn’t surprised to see Ferg’s red convertible pulling into the yard. He’d expected something like this after last night’s suspicious sounds from the far side of the creek. Ham had probably sent him to find out what was going on, which was reasonable. But how much did Ferg know about his father’s crime and the agreement not to interfere with the Rimrock? That remained to be seen.
Braced for anything, he came down the porch steps to greet his boyhood friend. Jasper and the boys were off with the cattle. Rose was in the kitchen. Bull was alone and unarmed, but he wasn’t worried.
“Morning, Ferg.” He crossed the yard toward the Thunderbird.
“Bull.” Ferg touched the brim of his hat and climbed out of the car. He wasn’t packing. “Nice new windmill you’ve got there.”
“Thanks. Put it up myself.”
Ferg glanced at the windmill. “Any water left down there?”
“Not much. A little for the house is about all. Hoping for rain and trying to make it last, like everybody else. What can I do for you?”
Ferg’s stance widened, as if bracing for a fight. “You can start with an explanation. We’ve seen that hole on your side of the creek. We’re guessing you want to run water into it.”
“That’s right. It’ll water more cattle at one time, and we won’t have to worry so much about them crossing the creek to your side. Better for everybody.”
“But you’re taking water out of the creek. That’s stealing.”
“No more stealing than what goes into the cows. We’ve got as much right to that water as you do. And we’ll only be diverting enough to fill the tank. Your ranch won’t even miss it.”
“But you’re upstream from us. What’s to stop you from blocking the stream and diverting all the water for yourselves?”
Bull shook his head. “For one thing, we’d have no place for all that water to go, especially since the land beyond our property is open range. For another thing, it would only cause trouble between us and your ranch. We don’t want a water war. We just want what we can use.”
“Then why do all that digging at night?”
Bull shrugged. “Why not? We don’t have to put up with the hot sun or take time away from the cattle. And the moon and stars give us enough light to work. As for diverting the creek, look at your ranch. You divert the water all over the place—to your hayfields, to your watering tanks, anywhere you need it. By the time the stream gets to the end of your property there’s no water left. We won’t be using a hundredth of that. So go on home, tell your father exactly what we mean to do, and tell him he’s welcome to come see it for himself.”
“I’ll do just that when he gets back from Fort Worth next Wednesday. But he’s not gonna like it.”
Bull had wondered how much Ferg knew about the murder and the deal Ham had made. Not much, he concluded—otherwise Ferg would’ve let something slip by now. And it did make sense that Ham would protect his son against any involvement in the crime and its cover-up.
“If Ham doesn’t like it, that’s his problem. So run along home now. When he gets back, tell him what I said.” Bull turned toward the porch, hoping Ferg would leave. But the other man stepped back and planted himself against the side of his car as if he meant to stay all morning.
“I got a letter from Susan.” The words stung like a razor slash across Bull’s face. “She told me she’d left because she needed a break. But now that she’s had time to think, she wants to be engaged again. I knew she’d come around, especially after that hot farewell in the stable. You can’t fake something that real.”
Bull could only stare, his emotions too raw to hide.
“She was unbelievable,” Ferg said. “I’d meant to wait till our wedding night, but she wanted it right then and there, flat on her back in the straw. She didn’t even want me to wear a rubber—wanted to feel it skin to skin. I’m tellin’ you, man, when a woman gives you her virginity, it’s something to re—”
Bull’s fist slammed into Ferg’s jaw. Driven by pain and fury, the punch crunched bone and knocked Ferg back over the hood of the car.
Ferg, a seasoned brawler, recovered fast. In an instant he was up and swinging. His knuckles cracked against Bull’s cheekbone. Bull, in his murderous rage, barely felt it. He waded in close, hate driving every blow he landed, bruising and bloodying the man who’d claimed the woman he loved.
They traded punch for fury-driven punch, lunging, hammering. Kicking and head-butting. Bull slugged Ferg’s mouth and felt a tooth give way. Ferg caught Bull’s eye with a sharp left hook that shot arrows of pain through his head. Bull reeled, caught himself, and charged his enemy again, wanting nothing more than to tear Ferg apart and leave him bleeding in the dust.
A gunshot shattered the air, the sound freezing both men in mid-motion. Startled, they turned and stared. Rose stood on the porch, Bull’s .44 gripped between her hands.
“Stop it! Both of you!” she shouted. “Break it up, before I’m tempted to shoot lower!”
Ferg staggered back against the car, a smirk on his battered face. “Well, how about that,” he said. “Bull’s got himself a feisty little live-in honey. Kinda young, but not bad lookin’, even with that ugly mark on her face. Wait till I tell Susan!”
Bull checked the impulse to leap for his throat. The fight was over—for now, at least. “She’s not my little honey, Ferg,” he said. “She’s Jasper’s niece, who’s here to stay with him. So take your dirty mind and get out of here.”
Grinning, Ferg picked up his dusty hat, climbed into the red convertible, and drove away. Bull stood looking after him, his gut churning. Was it true? Could Susan have promised to wait for him, then gone right back to the barn and had sex with Ferg? He didn’t want to believe it. But the doubt was there, eating at him and growing—fed by the fact that he hadn’t heard from her in weeks.
He loved Susan, but how well did he really know her? Not as well as Ferg did, that was for sure. She and Ferg had shared family. They’d grown up knowing each other. Why wouldn’t she decide to marry him instead of some dirt-poor rancher she barely knew?
The question was tearing him apart. But as he turned around and saw Rose on the porch, Bull realized he had even more urgent concerns than Susan.
Ferg had seen Rose. And once Ham got home and heard about the girl at the Tyler place, the wily old man would have little trouble seeing through the fake story and guessing that she was the unknown witness to his crime.
When that happened, not only would Rose’s life be in danger but Bull’s truce with Ham would be over. Once the girl was out of the way, the Prescotts could—and would—wipe him out.
That afternoon, Jasper showed up, hot and dusty after hours on the range. “You look like hell,” he said.
Bull told him what had happened. Jasper shook his head.
“I told you that Rutledge girl was bad news. Sorry you had to learn the hard way.”
“It’s Rose I’m worried about now,” Bull said. “We need to decide what to do.”
“You’re sure Ferg’s been kept in the dark?”
“Pretty sure. If he’d known about his father and the witness, he would’ve shown some sign of it. Ferg isn’t that cool.”
“From the looks of things, I’d say neither are you.” Jasper’s gaze took in Bull’s swollen black eye and bruised face. “You say Ham’s out of town till next week
?”
“That’s what Ferg said. There’s always a chance he’ll forget to tell his father about Rose, or that Ham won’t make the connection. But we can’t count on that.”
Susan had seen Rose, too, Bull remembered. She’d promised not to tell anybody, but then she’d promised other things, too. He couldn’t count her out as a danger.
“We can’t count on anything,” Jasper said. “We’ve got to plan for the worst.”
“Will you be okay with my going to Atlanta this weekend?”
“And risking your damn neck again? I’ll be okay, but will you?”
“The money’s good. I could win a pile of cash.”
Jasper sighed. “You’re the boss. You don’t need my permission to make a fool of yourself—especially if you try to see that girl.”
“I don’t plan to see her. She’s in Savannah, and Georgia’s a big state. Anyway, I’ll be back before Ham gets home. Rose should be all right until then.”
“You’d better be sure of that. If I see any sign of danger, I’ll take her in the truck and drive her back to Sally’s old farm in the hill country. You know, it might not be a bad idea to do it sooner. She’d be safe there. And Sally’s folks would be glad to have her.”
“We can talk about it when I get back from the rodeo,” Bull said.
“We should ask her, at least. All she does around here is work. It can’t be much of a life for a young girl.”
“Fine,” Bull said. “I’ll leave it to you. You can ask her anytime. Meanwhile, we need to finish that tank and get the water in it before I leave. Tell the boys to be ready. We’ll start after supper, when the sun goes down.”
* * *
Rose had cooked a big pot of chili with beans and taken part of it out to the bunkhouse for the boys. As an extra treat, she’d made fresh baking soda biscuits that were still warm. She’d turned out to be a pretty fair cook, Bull mused as he filled his bowl. He would miss that if she left. But Jasper was right. She had to be protected, and the Rimrock wouldn’t be safe much longer.
“This is a right tasty meal, Rose.” Jasper gave her a smile. “We don’t thank you often enough for all your hard work—do we, Bull?”
Bull looked up from buttering a biscuit. “We don’t. Thanks, Rose. You do a lot around here.”
Rose flushed and looked down at the table. Clearly she wasn’t used to much attention.
“We were talkin’ before supper,” Jasper said. “Much as we like having you, this is no life for a young girl—cookin’, cleanin’, and washin’ clothes for a bunch of men, with no woman around to mother you and no friends your own age. I know a farm couple back in the hill country—nicest folks you’ll ever meet. Earlier this summer they lost their daughter. I know how lonesome they must be.”
“How did they lose their daughter?” Rose asked.
“She drowned. We were plannin’ to be married.” Emotion roughened Jasper’s voice. “That’s how I know these folks. They have a little farm, with a nice house. I know they’d be happy to have you stay with them. You could even take your chickens.”
“You’re sending me away?” Rose’s eyes widened. A spoon clattered to the floor as she rose out of her chair. “No! I can’t go! I won’t!”
Jasper looked pained. “But it would be so much nicer for you, Rose. You could have friends, go to school—”
“No more school! When I went to school, the kids made fun of my face. They said I had a witch mark. So I learned by myself. And my grandpa taught me. He taught me a lot.
“But that isn’t why I want to stay here. I promised myself that I wouldn’t leave until the man who killed my grandpa was in jail or dead. And nothing’s happening! Why can’t I talk to the sheriff? I could tell him exactly what I saw and what that man looked like!”
Bull hadn’t meant to interfere. But with the girl so frustrated and Jasper slumped in defeat, it was time to step in. Rose was brave and intelligent beyond her years. She deserved some honest answers.
“Sit down, Rose,” he said. “Sit down and I’ll tell you as much of the truth as I can.”
Rose lowered herself to her chair. “Go on,” she said.
“I know who shot your grandfather,” he said. “I won’t give you his name, but I can tell you that he’s very rich, very powerful, and very dangerous. If he knew you’d seen him, and that you could testify against him in court, he would likely have you killed. That’s why Jasper wants to send you someplace safe—and so do I. Do you understand?”
Rose nodded, but her chin kept its determined thrust. “I understand, and I’ll be careful,” she said. “But I’m not going anywhere. Not until that man is locked up or dead. Why won’t you tell me his name?”
“Because knowing his name would put you in even more danger.”
“Does the sheriff know?” Her sharp gaze narrowed as Bull scrambled for an answer that would satisfy her. “Does he know?” She was on her feet again, her hazel eyes blazing fury. “He doesn’t, does he? Because you haven’t told him! You haven’t even told him my grandpa was murdered! You just stuck that old man in the ground and walked away, didn’t you? And then the two of you lied to me! Why, Bull? What is all this buying you?”
Bull cleared his throat. “What it’s buying me is more than I care to explain,” he said. “But don’t blame Jasper. He told you what I ordered him to tell you. He’s been on your side all along.”
“Let me take you away from here, Rose,” Jasper said. “We both want you safe. When the man who shot your grandpa is arrested, we’ll bring you back to testify.”
“But he won’t be arrested, will he? Not if I leave. You’ll just go right on protecting him. Isn’t that what you’re doing?”
The girl was prodding too deep and cutting too close.
“That’s enough,” Bull snapped. “It’s already been decided. You’re going.”
“No,” she said. “If you make me, I’ll run away on my own. You know I can because I’ve done it before. If I have to, I’ll find the sheriff and tell him everything I know. Believe me, it won’t be pretty.”
With that, Rose spun away from the table and stalked down the hall to her room. For a long, silent moment the two men stared after her. Then Jasper shook his head and chuckled.
“This isn’t funny,” Bull said.
“That depends on your point of view,” Jasper said. “From here, you look like you just tangled with a wildcat. That little gal has you over a barrel.”
“We can’t let her go to the sheriff.”
“And we sure as hell can’t risk getting her killed. What’re you thinkin’?”
“As long as she’s made up her mind to stay, all we can do is keep an eye on her,” Bull said. “She should be safe as long as Ham’s out of town. But we mustn’t leave her alone. You’d better stay here tonight and make sure she’s all right. The boys and I can finish the water tank.”
“Suits me,” Jasper said. “Somebody needs to keep an eye on the place here. Besides, if I went with you, I’d be worryin’ about the girl the whole time.”
* * *
As the sun sank behind the escarpment, Bull loaded the truck bed with a big roll of plastic sheeting, several packs of tape and some cutting tools. Taking the two young cowboys, Chester and Patrick, with him, he drove out to the tank. Tonight they planned to put down the plastic liner, then fill the tank with water from the creek.
Bull had left the shotgun in the house with Jasper. But he was wearing his holstered .44. Ham had given his word not to interfere, but his son didn’t seem to be aware of that. After the fight today, Ferg would be spoiling for mischief. Bull hoped nothing would happen. But if trouble did show up, his first concern had to be the safety of the two unarmed boys.
They parked next to the tank, unloaded the rolled sheeting, and began the work of putting down a waterproof layer. It wasn’t an easy job. The slippery plastic had to be held in place while tape was applied to join the edges. Rocks, which they’d dug out of the hole earlier, were carried back to anchor the sh
eets at the bottom and around the top. Only after it was done, and the tank filled with water, would they know whether they’d succeeded in making it leakproof.
By the time the tank was finished, the moon had climbed to the peak of the sky. Sweaty and exhausted, they leaned against the truck to rest. “Good job,” Bull said. “Now let’s run some water down that pipe and see what happens. Chester, grab the flashlight out of the truck. We’ll need to see up close. Patrick, you stay down here. Holler when the water starts coming out of the pipe.”
With Chester holding the flashlight, Bull crouched next to the creek, raised the makeshift gate, and thrust it sideways against the current to force water into the pipe. Was it working? He bent closer, motioning for more light.
That was when he felt a slight vibration through his thin boot soles and heard, from the far side of the creek, the unmistakable rumbling of a cattle stampede.
“Run, damn it!” he shouted. “Get in the truck!”
Chester dropped the flashlight and bent to pick it up. “Leave it!” Bull grabbed his skinny arm and dragged him along, racing back toward the pickup. They had seconds to make it. If the stampede caught them, they’d be trampled to death by the thundering cattle.
Patrick had already clambered into the cab of the truck. Bull opened the door, shoved Chester inside, and, slamming the door, vaulted into the bed of the pickup. He could hear gunshots as the riders drove the panicked herd toward the creek. It was too late to get away in the truck. By the time they got moving, the cattle would be around them like a flood. They’d have nowhere to go.
Damn, Ferg Prescott! Damn him to hell!
Bracing his legs, Bull stood erect and drew his .44. He had six bullets in the heavy pistol. There was more ammo in the glove box but no way to get to it. He would have to make every shot count.
He cocked the gun and saw the herd burst out of the darkness on the far side of the creek. Pounding through the shallow current, they came on like a wave—two hundred head, at least, moonlight gleaming on their horns and chalk-white faces.
