by Janet Dailey
Susan told him as much as she knew. “What I don’t understand is why Bull doesn’t just tell the truth,” she said.
Purvis nodded. “All I can tell you, because of lawyer–client privilege, is that we discussed that option and it wasn’t the best one—mostly because the jury wasn’t likely to believe him. I did check out Ferg Prescott’s claim that Bull called Ham at the house that night. Bull was telling the truth. There was no phone call. Of course, Ferg could wiggle out of that one by claiming he’d heard something else and jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
“He could also be lying about what Uncle Ham told him.”
“Or Ham could’ve been lying. See what a complicated mess this is?”
“My father and Ham were stepbrothers,” Susan said. “I was even engaged to Ferg for a while. I broke it off because he was cheating on me, but he always blamed Bull for coming between us. Ferg would say or do anything to destroy Bull and get his hands on the Rimrock. You can’t believe a word he says.”
“Maybe not, but a jury might. That’s the problem. Sympathy will be on the side of a man who’s lost his father.”
“Ferg despised his father—and the feeling was mutual.”
“I understand.” Purvis jotted down some notes. “We’ll be going before the grand jury next week. As things stand, our best chance of an acquittal—one that would clear Rose as well, by implication—would be to put all this aside and plead not guilty by reason of self-defense. Ham was on Tyler property, and Bull insists that he had a pistol in his hand when he was shot. I believe Bull. But there’s just one problem—no sign of the gun.”
Susan felt a chill. “Could Ferg have picked it up?”
“Maybe. Bull says he never saw Ferg take the gun. But the deputies searched the yard. So did Jasper Platt. Nothing. Find that gun, with Ham’s prints or his blood on it, and Bull stands a chance of going free. Otherwise . . .” Purvis shook his head. “Otherwise it’s a crapshoot, and the dice are loaded in Ferg’s favor.”
“I’ll do anything I can to help,” Susan said. “The funeral’s the day after tomorrow. I’ll be going with my parents. I might get a chance to talk with Ferg. Maybe he’ll let something slip. But right now I need to see Bull—and to let him see me.”
“I already called the jail,” Purvis said. “You can go in with me tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock. We can meet in the parking lot. All right?”
“Yes!” Susan blinked back tears. “Thank you so much! I’ll be fighting this with every ounce of strength in my body.”
“So will I. And this fight’s a long way from over.” Purvis smiled as he rose to see her off. But Susan noticed that the smile failed to reach his eyes.
* * *
“Visitor to see you, Tyler.” The guard that stopped by Bull’s cell was holding a set of handcuffs. Rising, Bull submitted to having his wrists cuffed before being led down the hall to the interrogation room, which doubled as a space for private consultations between inmates and their lawyers.
Lord, how he hated this!
His visitor would be Ned Purvis, who’d promised to come by for an update. As far as Bull knew, the old man was doing a decent job. But why did the process have to take so long? The thought of this ordeal dragging on for weeks, months, even years, while he rotted away in a cell, made him sick to his stomach.
Even so, he kept his head high and his gaze defiant as he prepared to walk into the room. Nobody—not the sheriff, not the guards, not his lawyer or the court—was going to see him crack.
The door opened. Bull stepped inside ahead of the guard—and almost lost control as Susan broke away from Purvis and ran to him. Before anyone could stop her, she flung her arms around him, holding him painfully tight. With his wrists cuffed in front, he could only stand still and feel her trembling against him.
“Back off, miss,” the guard said. “I can’t leave until he’s cuffed to the table.”
Reluctantly, she backed away. Bull could see that she was struggling not to weep. She knew he would want her to be strong. He loved her for that.
She was dressed simply in jeans and a denim shirt, her golden hair falling in waves around her face. She looked so beautiful that it almost broke his heart.
Accustomed to the routine, he let the guard lead him to the far side of the table and run the chain between his cuffed wrists. He could tell by the look in her eyes that his own appearance dismayed her. With his rumpled, ill-fitting jumpsuit, unshaven beard stubble, disheveled hair, and bloodshot eyes, he looked every inch the prisoner that he was. And seeing him chained, he knew, had to nearly destroy her.
He waited until the guard had left, locking the door behind him, before he spoke.
“What are you doing here, Susan?”
She took the single chair across from him. “I came to be here for you—to help in any way that I can.”
“This mess is none of your damned business,” he said. “And there’s no way you can help. Go home to Georgia. Get back to your life. That’s the best thing you can do for me.”
Her silver eyes seemed to darken. She rose to her feet, quivering. “Bull Tyler, you’re the proudest, most stubborn, most maddening person I’ve ever known. It would serve you right if I walked out of your miserable life for good! But I’m not going to. I’m going to stay here and fight for you, all the way! I’ll find that missing gun, or harass Ferg until he breaks, or do whatever I have to. I’m not giving up on you—ever! Understand?”
As Bull sat stunned, a patter of applause came from the corner of the room. Bull had almost forgotten that his lawyer was still here. “Bravo,” said Ned Purvis. “Bull, you’ve got a tigress on your team! Stop being so damned noble. Let her give it a shot.”
“Listen to him, Bull,” Susan said. “If I give up and go home, it will be my decision, not yours. But I’ve no intention of leaving. I’m staying in this fight until we win.”
Bull gazed at her across the table, his throat too tight to speak. He had never loved her more. But if he could force her home, away from the miasma of shame and danger that hung over him, he would do it without hesitation.
There was a rap on the door, the signal that time was up. The door slid open. Susan and Purvis were escorted out of the room. Bull slumped in his chair as the door closed behind them. He couldn’t fault Susan for coming, but seeing her only served to remind him of all he had to lose.
Waiting for the guard to come back, Bull muttered a string of the vilest curses he could dredge from the black depths of his soul. He knew better than to feel sorry for himself. He hadn’t fired the gun that blasted Ham Prescott to kingdom come, but every other step in this tragedy had been his own doing. He had set a trap of blackmail, secrets, and deception, then walked into it himself.
Anybody who knew the whole story would say that he deserved to be here. But that didn’t mean he had to accept his fate. He wanted out of this hellhole! He wanted his life back! He wanted Susan.
But his old life was gone. He’d taken too many shortcuts, opened too many of the wrong doors. Susan deserved better than the man he’d become—and the man he would be if he ever walked out of here on his own. He knew she’d stand by him. Susan was loyal to a fault. But she deserved so much better—an upright man who’d treat her like the queen she was, a man who’d never ask her to give up anything she loved for his sake.
With every tick of the clock in this place, his hope for life as a free man, with his own land and his own family, grew fainter. In time, he knew, it would be no more than dust in the wind.
* * *
After the jail visit, Susan drove back to the Rimrock and spent the next hour searching for the gun. Common sense told her she wouldn’t find it, and she didn’t. But at least she knew that she’d looked. The dogs trailed her around the yard, tails wagging, tongues lolling in the heat. Susan did her best to ignore the filthy mutts, but they seemed to have chosen her as their favorite person. Only after she’d gone inside did they plop down in the shade of the porch and go to sleep.
She’d asked Jasper their names. “Shep and Pal,” he’d told her. “Don’t ask me which one is which.”
She was doing her best to be useful around the house, buying food in town, cooking, cleaning, and running loads of laundry through the aging washer and dryer. The two hired boys usually warmed their own food and ate in the bunkhouse, but Susan had invited them to supper last night to ease the awkward silence between her and Jasper. She knew he didn’t like her much, but she tried not to take it personally. Jasper had been like an older brother to Bull in Bull’s youth. He was still fiercely protective of his young boss.
The next morning, after breakfast and chores, Susan dressed for her uncle’s 11 a.m. funeral, to be followed by an informal luncheon at the house. She dreaded the thought of going. Her parents would be furious with her. And she would be seeing Ferg for the first time since the rape.
His wife and son would be there, too, she reminded herself. That might make things easier. She had nothing but pity for the young woman he’d married and the son who’d gone unacknowledged for years. But her real purpose in being there was the hope of getting Ferg alone and learning more about the night of his father’s death. The prospect of facing him chilled her. But she would do it for Bull.
Dressed in a simple black knit sheath and black pumps, she was tucking a clean handkerchief into her purse when Jasper rapped on the bedroom door. “I found somethin’,” he said. “Take a look.”
She opened the door. He was holding a twisted red bandanna with something inside. When he opened it, Susan saw half a dozen brass shell casings from a small caliber weapon. “Found these outside the pasture fence,” he said. “The varmint that shot the cattle didn’t have enough time—or maybe enough sense—to pick them up. I used my knife to put ’em in here. Figured they might have prints on ’em. They might not count for much, but who knows?” He gave her a hopeful look.
“Yes, they could be helpful,” Susan agreed. “Would you like me to drop them off at the sheriff’s office?”
“Not there. I don’t trust those birds. Take ’em to Ned Purvis. He’ll know what to do.”
“I’ll take them by on the way home after the funeral.” She accepted the bandanna and put it in her purse.
“Thanks,” he said. “We both want to help Bull any way we can.” His wise eyes met hers. In that moment, Susan realized that Jasper had begun to trust her. They were becoming a team.
* * *
Ham Prescott’s funeral was to be held at the Blessed Harmony Church. Ham had never been a churchgoer, but since the pastor was Ferg’s father-in-law, it was a natural choice.
As she drove into the weedy parking lot, Susan was surprised at the small number of cars. She’d made it a point not to arrive early. Still, the lot was less than a third full. Ham had made more enemies than friends in his fifty-odd years of life, or so it seemed.
The organ was playing as she walked in the back door. Her gaze swept over the pews, seeking her parents. They were already upset with her. If she didn’t sit with them, they would be even angrier.
In the third row, she spotted Vivian’s lacy, black funeral hat. Next to her was an empty seat. Susan slunk down the aisle and slipped into place. Her mother’s narrow-eyed look and her father’s scowl spoke volumes. But at least, since the service was starting, they couldn’t lecture her.
The casket was closed. The only speaker appeared to be the reverend. As he droned on and on, eulogizing a man he’d barely known, Susan’s gaze wandered to the front row, where Ferg sat with his new family. His wife was pretty in a conservative sort of way, her plain black dress accentuating her pale skin. Her shapeless black hat was pinned to her wheaten hair, which she’d twisted into a bun. She sat with her arm around her son, who bore more of a resemblance to his preacher grandfather than to the man who’d sired him.
Susan avoided looking at Ferg. Even the back of his head—glossy chestnut hair curling low on his neck—awakened memories of terror, rage, and disgust.
After the service, cars and pickups followed the hearse in a solemn parade through town and out to the Prescott family cemetery on the ranch. After Ham was laid to rest beside his late wife, friends and family drove back to the house to eat barbecue, drink, and unwind. So far, Susan had avoided the clash with her parents. But sure as night followed sundown, it was coming, and she knew it wouldn’t be pretty. She needed to talk to Ferg, too—something she dreaded even more.
Anxiety had robbed her of her appetite. She nibbled at the beef, bread, and salad on her plate, barely tasting the food. Giving up, she abandoned her plate on a side table, picked a cold Tab from a tub of iced drinks, and wandered out onto the porch. With a sigh, she opened the can and leaned against the porch rail. How easy it would be to just go out to her Mustang, get in, and drive off. But that would be taking the coward’s way out. She needed to resolve things with her parents once and for all. And she owed it to Bull to ferret out whatever she could learn from Ferg.
“There you are, young lady!” Her mother’s voice shattered Susan’s temporary peace. “You’ve got some explaining to do!”
“I explained in my note,” Susan said. “I came back to Texas to be here for Bull. He’s innocent, and I’m doing my best to prove it.”
“Innocent? That’s nonsense!” Susan’s father had followed his wife outside. Looking tired, he sank into a chair. “Ham named Bull as his killer before he died. There’s no question of his guilt.”
“It isn’t true,” Susan said. “But that’s all I can tell you.”
“Well, never mind, dear.” Her mother laid a controlling hand on her arm. “Once we get you home again, you’ll look back and realize this was all a silly mistake. You’ll forget about it, and so will we.”
“But I’m not going home, Mother. I’m staying here.”
Vivian gasped, looking faint. “You can’t stay here! What about college?”
“College can wait. I’ve moved to the Rimrock, to be there for Bull.”
“Enough of this foolishness!” Her father rose. “We’ve got your plane ticket home. You’re coming with us tonight.”
Susan lifted her chin, eyes meeting her father’s stern gaze. “No. I’m sorry, Dad, but I’m not leaving.”
“If it’s your damned car you’re worried about, forget it. We’ll buy you another one.”
“It’s not the car. I’m staying for Bull. I love him.”
“But darling, you’re our only child!” Vivian’s grip tightened on Susan’s arm. “How can you do this to us—especially given your father’s health?”
Susan took a deep breath. “I love you both. I always will. But I won’t be responsible for your happiness. And I won’t let you manipulate me with guilt. I’ve made my choice. I’ve chosen Bull.”
Her mother’s hand dropped from her arm. Her father’s eyes had gone cold. “This is your last chance, Susan,” he said. “Either you forget Bull Tyler and come home now, or you’ll no longer be welcome in our home. You won’t receive another cent from us, and if you marry that murderer who killed my brother, you’ll be written out of our will. It will be as if we never had a daughter.”
Stunned but resolute, Susan shook her head. “I’m sorry, but my mind’s made up. I’m not going home with you.”
“We’ll mail your things,” her father said.
Vivian had begun to weep, tears streaking mascara down her cheeks. “I can’t go back inside looking like this, Cliff,” she said. “Let’s just go.” She might have hugged her daughter one last time, but her husband drew her away and led her down the steps toward their rental car.
Susan stood on the porch, her throat tight, her hands gripping the rail as she watched them drive away. Would her parents forgive her later, especially if she had children? But that couldn’t be allowed to matter. She’d made her choice. So had they.
She didn’t feel like staying, but she couldn’t pass up the chance to talk with Ferg. After what he’d done to her, the thought of facing him sent a shudder through her body. But she was doing t
his for Bull, she reminded herself. That made all the difference.
She was turning to go back inside when Ferg came out onto the porch. He was alone, one hand holding a glass with two fingers of liquor in it. The smirk on his face made her want to turn and flee down the steps, but she willed herself to be strong.
“Hello, beautiful. I’ve been wantin’ to get you alone.” Sounding more than a little drunk, he held up the glass. “Peach brandy. Want some? I can get more. Along with my other inherited duties, I’m now master of the key to the sacred liquor cabinet.”
“No thanks. I’ve got something.” She picked up the Tab he’d set on the coffee table. The can had already lost its chill. “I’m sorry about your father,” she said.
“Me too, I guess.” He raised the glass. “Cheers, old man. Rot in hell.” He raised the glass, downed the rest of the brandy, and set the glass on the table. “So take a look at the big boss of the Prescott Ranch!”
“I suppose it’s too soon to congratulate you,” Susan said.
“Oh, never too soon.” His eyes roamed her body, lingering on her slim waist and flat belly. “You’re lookin’ good, girl. I take it I didn’t get you preggers.”
“No.” Susan forced a tight smile. “But from what I hear, you had better luck with somebody else.”
“Yeah. Got me a ready-made family. Edith’s okay. But I always hoped it would be you.”
“Well, it’s too late for that now.”
His mouth widened in a leering grin. “Maybe not. Will you be around long? Maybe we can get together.”
“Sorry, my parents booked a flight out tonight.” Susan sipped her lukewarm Tab, masking her disgust. If Ferg assumed she’d flown in with her parents, then he wouldn’t likely know about her involvement with Bull. All to the good if she could put his mistaken assumptions to use.
“I hear it was Bull Tyler who shot your father. Is that true?” she asked.
“That’s what my old man said with his last breath, when he passed away in my arms. A man’s dyin’ word is as good as you can get. And now I’ve got Bull Tyler by the balls. If the bastard gets the electric chair, believe you me, I’ll be front and center to watch.”
