Texas Fierce

by Janet Dailey

  Bull Tyler would laugh his head off when he heard about this.

  The ceremony took just a few minutes, including a homily by the reverend. When it was done, Ferg gave Edith a self-conscious kiss and they left, trailed back up the aisle by Ham and by a scared-looking Garn.

  At the curb, Ferg helped Edith into the backseat of the convertible and climbed in beside her. The reverend hurried out with two battered suitcases, one large and one smaller. Ham stowed them in the trunk and, with Garn in the front passenger seat, headed back to the ranch.

  Ferg slipped an arm around his bride. At least he wouldn’t have to pick her up on the corner for sex. But there was something about sneaking around that gave him a rush. He would miss that—and the time would come, he knew, when he’d go looking for it again.

  No need for a honeymoon. By tomorrow, he’d be back in the saddle. Edith would be settling into the house and, he hoped, Ham would take over showing Garn around the ranch. For all Ferg cared, Ham could raise the kid.

  Maybe in time he’d get used to the new arrangement. But now, as he glared at the back of his father’s head, the only emotion Ferg felt was a burning hatred.

  * * *

  On Monday, Ham called Susan’s parents to tell them about Ferg’s wedding. The news sent Vivian to her room with a pounding migraine. It sent Cliff to his liquor cabinet for a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

  Susan was on the patio, browsing the course catalog for the university’s fall semester, when her father came outside with a half-emptied glass in his hand.

  “I just talked to Ham,” he said. “Ferg got a preacher’s daughter pregnant. He’s married.”

  For the space of a breath, Susan could scarcely believe what she’d heard. Then, as the news sank in, it was as if a pressing weight had lifted off her shoulders. Free at last!

  “Well, what have you got to say?” Cliff demanded.

  She hesitated, then shrugged. “Would congratulations be appropriate?”

  Cliff emptied the glass, yanked out the chair on the opposite side of the table, and sat down. “Don’t you understand what this means? That ranch could’ve doubled the value of our family holdings, not just for you but for your children and generations to come. Now it’s gone, and it’s your fault.”

  “My fault? Not Ferg’s?” Susan laid the catalog on the table. “He’d already had one child with that girl. Now there’s another one, and you say it’s my fault?”

  “If you hadn’t broken up with Ferg, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “I told you why I broke up with Ferg. This isn’t the eighteen hundreds. A woman doesn’t have to put up with a man’s sneaking off at night. And she doesn’t have to let herself be auctioned off like a prize heifer, to whoever can put up the most cash.”

  Cliff’s hand swept the table, knocking the catalog and the empty glass onto the tiles. The glass shattered on impact. Susan bent to pick up the shards.

  “Leave that for the maid!” Cliff snapped. “I’m still talking to you! Ham told me something else. According to Ferg, it was Bull Tyler who caused your breakup.”

  Susan felt the awful weight settle in again. She’d taken pains to keep Bull’s name out of the conflict with her parents. Now the game had changed, and not in a good way.

  “That’s not true,” she said. “I broke up with Ferg because he was seeing a woman in town—I told you that, remember? Bull had nothing to do with it.”

  “I met Bull Tyler that night when he came to dinner. Proud, stubborn young fool without two nickels to rub together. When Ham and I offered to invest in his ranch as partners, he turned us down flat. You can’t eat that kind of pride, girl. You can’t wear it or drive it or live with it over your head. Marry that man and you’ll be dirt poor all your life. Is that what you want?”

  “What I want is to be responsible for my own choices. That’s something I’ve put off too long.” Susan rose and picked up the catalog that had fallen on the tiles. “Tomorrow I plan to start looking for a job. When I find one, I’ll look for an apartment.”

  “And college? Don’t expect any help from us if you walk out.”

  “I’ll work to pay for it myself, or get a student loan.”

  “Go ahead,” her father said. “Once you see how tough it is out there, living in some roach-infested walk-up and slinging burgers or scrubbing toilets, you’ll be back. You’ll see.”

  Susan walked into the house without answering. In spite of everything, she loved her parents. Once she was on her own, she might be able to have a better relationship with them. But as long as she was living under their roof, and spending their money, they would feel justified in controlling her life.

  That night, on the pretext of an errand, she drove to a hotel with pay phones in the lobby and placed a call to Bull.

  “My parents know about you,” she told him.

  “How much?” His voice, as always, calmed her.

  “Certainly not everything, but enough to raise some flags. Ham told them that Ferg blames you for breaking my engagement.”

  “So you know Ferg’s married.”

  “Yes. Thank heaven. I just feel sorry for that poor girl. How are things with the ranch?”

  “Never better. I told you earlier about the new property on the caprock. The well is working now, and the grass is greening up. We’re trailering cattle up there a few at a time, and the brothers have started on the house. It’s going to take some time, but the place should be ship-shape for you by next summer. It’s almost scary how well things are working out. I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”

  His words triggered an unexpected chill. “Don’t say that. It scares me. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you, Bull.”

  “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “How’s Rose doing? I liked her.”

  He gave her a wry chuckle. “What can I say? She’s restless and contrary, tired of being cooped up on the ranch, threatening to run away and take her chickens.”

  “In other words, she’s a teenage girl. She sounds like me at that age. Don’t worry, she’ll outgrow it.”

  “I’m not so sure. I don’t have much experience with girls—not even if I count you. I miss you, by the way.”

  “I love you,” she said.

  “And I love you, more than anything on this earth.”

  They ended the call. She drove her Mustang home through the sultry Savannah night, still vaguely troubled. She loved Bull with all the passion of her young heart. But if she expected their lives to be a romantic dream, she was a child, living in a fairy tale. She’d been spoiled and pampered all her life. But living on the Rimrock would be different from anything she had ever experienced. To be a wife and partner to Bull and a good mother to their children, she would need to be smart, tough, and utterly fearless. Right now she was none of those things.

  If all went as hoped, she’d return to her love next summer and they would be married. Between now and then, Susan realized, she had a lot of growing up to do.

  * * *

  “How would you like to have open season on Bull Tyler?”

  Ferg had barely been listening to the drone of his father’s voice, but Ham’s question snapped him to full attention. He sat up straight in the porch swing, where he’d been dozing.

  “I thought you and Bull had some kind of agreement,” he said.

  “Agreement is the polite word for it.” Ham pulled his chair close to where Ferg sat. His voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “Actually it’s more like blackmail. Bull has access to a witness who saw me doing something illegal. He’s been holding it over me ever since.”

  “Something illegal? Like what?” Ferg asked.

  “Never mind. We’re both better off if you don’t know. But if Bull reported the crime, the testimony of that witness could send me to prison.”

  Ferg stared at his father. In the silence, a fly buzzed close and landed on his cheek. Ferg brushed it away. “This is about that girl, isn’t it? The one at the Tyle
r place. Is she the witness?”

  “She’s got to be. Why else would Bull keep her around and so close to the ranch? She’s his insurance policy. As long as he’s got her, we can’t touch him. But once she’s out of the way . . .” Ham let the implication hang. Ferg could imagine the rest. He’d be free to punish Bull Tyler any way he wanted to.

  “You’re not planning to kill her, are you?” he asked.

  “Hell, no. I’ll just be sending her someplace where she can’t hurt us anymore. A friend of mine’s got connections with folks who deal in young girls—boys, too, but that doesn’t concern us. I’ve already contacted him. His people are interested—even with that birthmark you told me about. Hell, we might make some money on her. But I’m going to need your help.”

  “Why me?” Ferg asked. “You’ve got your hired goons for that kind of thing.”

  Ham shook his head. “I can’t trust those birds with something this big. They could demand a piece of the action, maybe blackmail me down the road, or run afoul of the law and spill everything they know for a plea deal. No, for this I need my own flesh and blood. I need family. That’s you.”

  Ferg gazed past the porch and out over the rippling hayfields and the pastures, dotted with prime cattle. His eyes took in the barns and the stable, the paddock where blooded horses grazed. He thought about the money, the power . . .

  All this could be his someday. But he sensed that his father was testing him—taking the measure of his strength and family loyalty. Pass the test and he’d be given the respect and responsibility that the heir to the ranch deserved. Fail and he’d continue to be treated like a child. He could even be forced out of his inheritance.

  The choice was his. The decision could be the turning point of his whole life.

  “Well, what do you say?” Ham made no effort to hide his impatience.

  Ferg took a deep breath. “I’m in,” he said. “What’s the plan?”

  * * *

  Three nights later, they put the plan in motion. That afternoon, from a distance, Ferg had scouted the ranch with binoculars to make sure the girl was there. He’d seen her behind the house, feeding the chickens and gathering eggs. Everything looked calm, with no sign of trouble. There were two dogs with her, but they looked friendly enough. Even if they barked, it wouldn’t matter.

  Now, at two in the morning, Ham started the black pickup truck. Driving with the lights out, and Ferg in the passenger seat, he cut the engine and coasted to a stop just short of the Rimrock. The plan was in motion.

  Ferg was to go to the pasture on the far side of the barn and create a distraction by firing his pistol at the cattle—not aiming to kill but to wound and scare them, creating a commotion. When Bull and the ranch hands went charging out to investigate, the girl would be left alone in the house. Ham, still powerful at his age, would go into the house armed with a pistol, get her into the pickup, subdue her with a chloroform-soaked rag, and drive off. Ferg would either cut around and join him on the road or walk home in the dark.

  Ferg didn’t think much of the plan. There were too many things that could go wrong. But he figured that by the time Bull and his men showed up at the pasture, he could make a clean getaway. Besides, there were worse things than having his father get caught and go to prison. With Ham out of the way, he would have free rein to run the ranch and go after Bull. All he had to do was stay out of sight and keep his nose clean.

  When the truck stopped, Ferg climbed out, closed the door softly, and took off at a run for the pasture. Even at a distance, the sound, or perhaps the scent, had alerted the dogs. Ferg could hear them barking, but as the seconds passed, they didn’t seem to be coming closer. The big mutts were probably penned or tied.

  Never mind, Ferg told himself. However it went down, odds were that tonight’s escapade would end in his favor.

  * * *

  Bull awakened to the sound of the dogs barking. It wasn’t unusual for a passing coyote or skunk to set them off, but tonight their clamor was louder and more urgent, as if they sensed danger. Bull pulled on his jeans, cocked his pistol, and walked outside to the porch.

  “What is it, you rascals?” he demanded. The dogs whimpered and pulled at their tethers, wanting to get loose and chase whatever was out there. Since their epic roll in the swamp mud, he’d kept them tied at night. They were bound by long ropes to a support under the front porch. They didn’t like it, but it had to be done. Letting dogs run loose at night, especially in ranch country, was never a good idea.

  By now the big mutts were getting used to the idea. They’d even taken to hiding their treasures—bones, sticks, and assorted dried animal parts—under the porch to amuse themselves when they were tied.

  Bull’s voice and presence seemed to calm the animals. He spent a few moments peering across the moonlit yard. Seeing nothing amiss, he was about to go back inside when Rose came out onto the porch, wrapped in Williston’s old bathrobe.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked. “They don’t usually bark so loud.”

  “Everything seems fine,” Bull said. “Go on back to bed, Rose.”

  The girl shook her head. “Something’s going on. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “In your bones? Give me a break. I’ve never believed in that mumbo jumbo.”

  “No, it’s real,” Rose said. “Some women in my family have a gift. My grandma could sense things. Sometimes I can, too. And right now I feel like something’s going to happen. Something bad.”

  Bull willed himself to ignore the unease her words roused in him. “Let’s both go back to sleep,” he said. “It’ll be morning before you know it.”

  After they’d settled the dogs and Rose had returned to her room, Bull stood at his bedroom window staring out into the night. A warm, dry wind was blowing. The full moon cast the waving mesquite clumps into long, eerie shadows.

  What if the girl was right? What if the dogs had scented danger and were trying to warn him?

  Too restless to lie down, he dressed in the dark. The loaded .44 lay next to his pillow. The ten-gauge shotgun, loaded with two shells, stood behind the front door. Jasper had his own pistol, the old Colt .45 Peacemaker he’d carried for as long as Bull had known him. At least if danger threatened, they’d be well armed.

  He’d picked up the pistol and was walking toward the rear of the house to check the back door when he heard a gunshot. Not close—it had come from the direction of the pasture beyond the barn. A second shot followed, then another. The dogs were barking again, and now, over the din, Bull could hear the frantic bellowing of cattle. He swore out loud.

  Jasper burst out of his room, pulling on his jeans and boots. “Sounds like some bastard is shootin’ our stock!” he muttered, barely awake. “We’d better get out there.”

  Rose had appeared in the hallway. “Stay put,” Bull cautioned her. “Lock the doors. Keep down and keep the lights off.”

  Two more shots rang through the darkness as he rushed out the front door and off the porch with Jasper on his heels. On the far side of the yard, Patrick and Chester came stumbling out of the bunkhouse, still pulling on their clothes. The hellish shrieks of the cattle filled the night—but the gunfire had stopped.

  Bull had rounded the back corner of the barn when the realization hit him. He halted as if he’d run into a wall.

  “What is it?” Jasper stopped beside him, breathing hard.

  “This is a damned diversion.” Bull’s voice rasped in his throat. “It’s got to be. You and the boys see to the cattle. I’m going back. It’s Rose they’re after!”

  Bull ran, his heart drumming in his ears. As he rounded the barn, the light of the full moon revealed Ham Prescott’s black pickup truck, lights out, pulling into the yard and stopping about thirty yards short of the house. The driver’s side door opened. Ham climbed to the ground, pistol drawn, and began walking swiftly toward the house.

  “Ham, you crazy fool!” Bull’s shout was drowned out by the bellowing cattle and the barking dogs, who were jumping and s
training at their tethers. He kept running, but he was too late, and too far away, to stop what happened next.

  The front door opened. Rose stepped out onto the shadowed porch carrying the ten-gauge shotgun. Before Ham could react, she steadied the heavy barrel on the back of a chair, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

  The shotgun roared, blasting Ham backward as if he’d been kicked in the belly by a giant boot. He lay in the moonlit dust of the yard, legs twitching, one hand groping empty air.

  Seconds after the shot was fired, Bull reached him. Ham lay in a pool of blood, eyes wild, teeth clenched against the pain. A straight shot would have killed him outright, but the blast of the heavy shotgun in Rose’s small hands had struck a few inches to the right, ripping into his shoulder and side but missing his heart. All the same, the awful wound was bound to be fatal. Ham was losing too much blood to survive. But he was a tough man. Something told Bull he wouldn’t die easy.

  The dogs had retreated under the porch. Rose stood on the top step, pale as a ghost in the moonlight. The shotgun rested against her leg. “Is he dead?” she asked in a frozen voice.

  “Not yet.” Still numb with shock, Bull leaned over the dying man. “Rose—”

  “He killed my grandpa, and I’m not sorry,” she said. “If he doesn’t die, I’ll shoot him again.”

  “Run in the house and get some sheets and towels,” Bull said. “Leave them on the steps and go back inside. I don’t want you out here.” When she hesitated, he snapped at her. “Go on! Move!”

  She wheeled and darted into the house.

  Bull stripped off his shirt and wadded it against the spot where the most blood seemed to be. It didn’t help much, but instinct compelled him to do what he could. From the pasture he could still hear the cattle bawling. Jasper and the boys wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon. He was on his own.