by Janet Dailey
From below the porch came the slam of a metal door as Bull got out of the truck. “Garn,” Ferg said. The boy looked up from his book. “Mr. Tyler is coming to see me. I want you to answer the door and send him back to my office.”
Garn shrugged, laid down the book, and rose out of the chair. As the doorbell rang, Ferg hurried back down the hall, opened the office door, and slipped into the throne-like leather chair that had been his father’s. He could hear Bull’s voice in the parlor as he opened the desk drawer on his right, checked the .38 revolver that Ham had kept right in front, and made sure it was loaded. He wasn’t sure what Bull had in mind, but if it involved violence, shooting an armed assailant in his own home would be justified under the law.
He slid the drawer partway shut, leaving enough space for his hand, as Bull appeared in the doorway.
“Ferg.” Bull wasn’t packing a weapon. He didn’t need one. The ramrod stance, the slitted gaze, the firmly set jaw, the lightning hands poised to strike at the slightest provocation, all whispered danger. Ferg shrank into the chair. He glanced at the gun in the drawer, sensing that it wouldn’t do him any good. Bull was like a panther, sleek and taut, reining back his fury by sheer force of will.
“What do you want, Bull?” Ferg asked.
“What I want is to kill you.” Bull’s voice was low and icily calm. “But I came here to give you a warning. Stay away from the Rimrock. Stay away from me, and from anybody I care about. I have evidence to place you on my property, shooting my cattle, the night your father died. Keep your distance and I won’t press charges. There are other things I could do as well—but we’re both adults, and you’ve got a family now. We’re getting too old for fistfights and silly pranks. Don’t you agree?”
“What about Susan?” Ferg asked the question, knowing it would sting.
Bull flinched, the only sign that he could still be vulnerable. When he spoke again, a trace of emotion had crept into his voice. “Susan’s gone for now. But wherever she is, if I hear that you’ve so much as breathed on her, so help me, I will kill you, damn the consequences. Don’t doubt it if you value your life. Do we understand each other?”
“I’d say so. You leave me alone, and I’ll leave you alone. It sounds like a sensible bargain.” Ferg rose. Neither man extended a hand.
“Fine. As long as it’s settled, I’ll be going. Don’t bother to show me out.” Bull turned and, at an unhurried pace, walked back down the hall and left by the front door.
Ferg slumped in his father’s chair. To his surprise, he was sweating like a horse.
* * *
Bull picked up two extra-large pizzas and a six-pack of Mexican beer in town. After returning to the ranch, he took half the booty out to the boys in the bunkhouse. He shared the rest with Jasper while they watched a rerun of the past weekend’s regional rodeo finals.
When the broadcast was over, they wandered outside and sat on the porch steps. In the late-night sky, the crescent moon was a silver scimitar amid the stars. The windmill creaked softly, turned by a breeze that smelled of sage and cattle. Bull filled his lungs, savoring the scents and sounds of home.
Lord, he loved this place, this ranch. He’d never wanted to come back here but the land was part of him, and always had been. His father had been right, the land was everything.
“When do you figure it’ll be safe to bring Rose back?” Jasper asked. “I miss that spunky little gal.”
“Not for a while yet,” Bull said. “She’s in a good place, with good people. And if she were to come back now, she could still be in danger from Ferg. I know he said he’d leave us alone, but I don’t trust the bastard.”
“I see.” Jasper’s terse comment spoke volumes. Bull knew he was thinking of the land that was rightfully Rose’s. But that issue could wait until she was older. He’d do right by her then.
Jasper rolled a cigarette from the pouch in his pocket and lit it with a miniature dime-store lighter. He smoked in silence a few moments before he spoke again.
“So when are you goin’ to come to your senses and call Susan?” Jasper asked.
The sound of her name triggered a stab of longing. Bull struggled to ignore it. “I don’t know if she’d even have me,” he said. “I was pretty brutal.”
And he had been. He’d thought he was doing the right thing, telling her to go away. But he was just beginning to realize how hurtful he’d been.
And how much he still wanted her . . .
“She’d have you, all right. The gal was a real trooper while you were locked up. Helped around the place and everything. Hell, you wouldn’t even be here if she hadn’t figured out where Ham’s pistol had gone to.”
“I know that,” Bull said. “This isn’t about Susan. She’s everything I could ever want. But how can I give her any kind of future? I just got out of jail. I can barely support this place, let alone a quality woman like her. And the house—”
“For once in your life, shut up, Bull!” Jasper snapped. “What makes you think everything has to be exactly the way you want it? Hell, life isn’t perfect. You have to learn to be happy and make the most of what you’ve got, even when there are things you can’t change.”
“You mean like the way my father died—and me not being able to put it to rest?”
“Hey, we were talkin’ about you and Susan,” Jasper said. “Where did that come from?”
Bull turned to face his most trusted friend. He’d long suspected that Jasper was keeping secrets about his father’s death. If his suspicions were right, it was time to demand the truth.
“You know I’ve never felt like I knew the whole story,” he said. “Locked in that cell, I got pretty black. Not just about Susan but about my whole damned life. I must’ve spent hours thinking about my dad, how hard he was on me and what he went through to save this place for me. If he slipped or jumped off that cliff, I’ll deal with that. But if somebody killed him, I need to see justice done. I need to make it right.”
Jasper didn’t reply.
“For a long time I thought it might’ve been the Prescotts,” Bull continued. “But Ham swore that it wasn’t. So I got to thinking of those people up on the caprock—Krishna and Steve and the rest. They were living up there when my dad died. Maybe they did it. Maybe he saw something they didn’t want him to see.”
Jasper laid a hand on his arm. “Let it go, Bull. Forget it. Marry that beautiful woman and move on with your life. That’s what Williston would have wanted you to do.”
“But—”
“No.” Jasper tossed his burning cigarette butt into the yard. “That’s enough, damn it. It wasn’t the Prescotts that killed him. And it wasn’t those fool hippies up top.”
“How do you know that, Jasper?” Something closed like an icy fist around Bull’s heart.
Jasper looked Bull straight in the eye. “I know because it was me. I pushed Williston off that cliff.”
Bull stared at him, mute with shock.
“Don’t say a word,” Jasper said. “Just listen to the whole story. I’ve told you how sick Williston was, how much pain he was in. Toward the end, even being drunk didn’t help. He wanted to live to see you again, but he was in agony. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He told me he wanted to end it and asked me to be there with him.
“We took a bottle and walked up the back of the ledge. I had a little to drink. Williston had most of it. We’d agreed on a story to cover what was supposed to happen, to make it look like an accident in case anybody wondered.
“When the time came, he told me, ‘Jasper, I want to do this on my own, but you might have to help me. I’m going to stand on the edge and count down from ten. If I haven’t jumped by the count of one, promise you’ll give me a good push.’ So I promised him, and that’s how it happened.”
Tears were flowing down Jasper’s cheeks. “I never had more respect for a man than I did for your father. Helping him die, and hiding the truth afterward, was the last kindness I could do him. But I’ll live with that memory every da
y for the rest of my life. And now you’ll have to live with it, too.”
Bull’s eyes were moist. An aching lump had risen in his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered.
“Because your dad didn’t want you to know. He swore me to it before he died. I turned his horse loose and spent the next day pretendin’ to search, knowing the whole time where he was and how I’d find him. And I never told anybody till now. It was all for you, Bull. That was the promise I made—the promise I just broke. Wherever he is, I hope to hell Williston will forgive me.”
Jasper gazed up at the stars, as if wondering whether his old boss was listening. “I broke a whole passel of laws doing what I did. I’m hoping you won’t turn me in.”
“I’d never do that,” Bull said. “What you did, you did out of friendship.”
“If your dad was here, he’d tell you to go get that woman, make babies with her, and be happy. Since he’s not here, I’m tellin’ you for him. Life is too short—nobody knows that better than I do. I put off marryin’ my Sally because Williston needed me, and after that because I thought you needed me. You know the rest.”
After some silence, Jasper stood, stretching his long, skinny frame. “I’ve said enough. Time to turn in. You think on what I’ve told you. If, by morning, you’ve decided to take my advice, I’ll break one more promise.”
“What promise is that?” Bull asked.
“I’ll tell you where to find Susan.”
Bull’s pulse skipped. “She’s still here?”
Jasper nodded. “I wouldn’t keep her waitin’ too long if I was you, Bull. You put that girl through hell. You don’t want her changin’ her mind.”
* * *
“More coffee?” Susan poised the carafe over the beautiful china cup, one of a set that had belonged to Ned Purvis’s late wife.
Purvis, who was reading the morning newspaper, shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ve had enough. You’re spoiling me, young lady. Any more of those muffins you made and I’ll have to let my belt out a couple of notches.”
Susan smiled at the comment. She’d had very little baking practice, but in one of the cabinet drawers she’d discovered a well-used copy of the red-and-white Better Homes and Gardens cookbook. She’d tried several recipes. The failures had gone into the trash. But the muffins, made with blueberries she’d found in the freezer, were spectacular.
Cooking would never be high on her list of accomplishments but, at least for now, it helped divert her thoughts from Bull.
Yesterday Purvis had passed on the news that Bull was a free man. Susan had been giddy with relief. But as the afternoon dragged into an evening that slowly darkened into night, she’d forced herself to face reality. He’d meant it when he’d told her to leave. She wasn’t going to see him again. It was time to start planning the rest of her life.
A life without Bull. Without the sight of his face, the sound of his voice, and the strength of his arms around her. This morning it felt like a prison sentence.
As Purvis finished the paper, she carried the breakfast dishes to the sink. “As soon as I clean up here, I’ll file that stack of briefs you left on your desk,” she said.
“No hurry. Take some time for yourself.” Purvis rose from the table. “If you need me, I’ll be out front trimming my roses. Best to get it done before the heat sets in.”
Alone in the house, she loaded the dishwasher, wiped the countertops, and dusted the table. She was folding the newspaper when, on impulse, she decided to check the want ads. Maybe jobs were easier to find in Texas than in Savannah.
She’d pulled out a chair and was about to sit down when Purvis, who hadn’t been outside long, opened the front door. “Susan,” he said, “you have a visitor.”
He moved discreetly out of the way, back onto the porch.
Bull stepped into the doorway.
Susan’s heart dropped. She forgot to breathe as he walked toward her and stopped a few feet away. He looked careworn, as if he’d spent nights without sleep. She checked the urge to run to him. First she needed to hear what he had to say.
Silence hung between them as they looked into each other’s faces. A small eternity seemed to pass before he spoke.
“Forgive me, Susan. I’ve let pride make a fool of me.”
She forced herself to remain rooted to the floor with one hand on the back of the chair. “You’ve been a proud fool, all right,” she said. “But as long as you’ve learned your lesson, I’ll forgive you—on one condition.”
In his eyes she saw fear, hope, and love. “Go on,” he said.
“I’ll forgive you only if you promise to spend the rest of your life making up for what you did to me.”
“Come here and try me, lady.”
She flung herself into his open arms. He held her tight. She could feel her tears wetting his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wanted everything perfect for you—the house, the ranch, even me. When I knew I couldn’t give you that—”
“Hush, my love.” She silenced his lips with her own. “I don’t care about perfect. I only care about building a life with you—together.”
He chuckled, deep in his throat. “I think you just proposed to me,” he said. “The answer is yes.”
* * *
A week later they were married in Ned Purvis’s rose garden. Susan wore a simple, white summer dress. Purvis walked her across the lawn to where Bull stood, with Jasper beside him as best man. The two young cowhands, Patrick and Chester, served as witnesses. A justice of the peace performed the ceremony.
One other event made the day memorable. As they began their vows, a breeze sprang up. Dark clouds swept in above the tall cottonwoods. Thunder rumbled across the sky.
They had just exchanged rings and kissed when the clouds burst open, releasing a torrent of rain, like a blessing on their marriage.
Purvis and the justice raced for the cover of the porch. Susan, Bull, and the rest of them splashed and danced, laughing like children in the sweet, life-giving downpour.
EPILOGUE
August 1975, three years later
BULL STOOD ON THE PORCH BEFORE SUPPER, WATCHING THE LAST blaze of sunset fade above the shadowed cliffs of the escarpment. The air was fresh and cool after the midday cloudburst. The smell of raw, damp earth was heaven to his senses.
A rare satisfaction stole over him as he contemplated the fact that, in every direction he looked, most of what he saw was his own land.
Over the past couple of years, he’d picked up pieces of neighboring property wherever he could. The swampland to the south was his now, with a good spot to drill a shallow well if the need arose. And he’d jumped at the chance to expand the caprock parcel when the owner had retired. Now he had enough land and water up there to run a thousand head of beef and still have enough acreage for growing hay.
The heart of the ranch had seen improvements as well. Months of living in the house while Krishna and Steve remodeled it had been a bother, but the end result had been worth it. The house was now a handsome edifice of timbers and river stone, with a cathedral ceiling and a high rock fireplace in what Krishna called the great room, as well as hardwood floors, a formal dining room, and even a small apartment added on the back for Jasper.
At Susan’s insistence, he had also graveled an area around the house to keep the dust and mud from tracking inside. Susan had also insisted that the dogs be professionally clipped and groomed. Without their shaggy fur, they were as sleek and trim as show dogs, but as mischievous as ever.
As if the thought could bring them, the two mutts came up the steps and crowded around his legs, begging to be petted. Bull scratched each eager head. He liked them all right, but in their doggy hearts, they really belonged to his wife.
He heard the screen door open and close as Susan came out onto the porch with their two-month-old son in her arms. “Look who’s awake,” she said.
“Give him to me.” Bull took the tiny boy in his arms. It had taken some time for Susan to ge
t pregnant, but they’d done the job right. Young Will—named Williston, after Bull’s father—was stamped in his father’s image with dark hair, deep blue eyes, and a stubborn nature that was already showing. Healthy and alert, he was just beginning to notice things around him.
“I took him in for a checkup today,” Susan said. “Everything’s fine. But a woman in the doctor’s office mentioned that poor Edith Prescott has miscarried again. That’s the second time. I feel so sorry for her, especially when I look at our perfect little son and think what a blessing he is.”
“Well, at least they’ve got Garn to carry on the family name.” Not that Garn was much for a father to brag about. Bull supposed that he should feel sorry for Ferg. But after the things Ferg had done, he couldn’t muster much compassion for the man.
Bull cradled the baby partway upright, turning his face toward the yard beyond the porch. “Take a look around, son,” he said. “Someday, you’ll be the big boss of this ranch. All this, and more, will be yours.”
“And more?” Susan looked up at him, frowning. “Good heavens, Bull, isn’t this enough?”
“Never,” Bull said. “I’m going to keep building this place till the day I die. It’s not just a family ranch we’re creating here. It’s a dynasty.”
All true, Bull mused. But right now, on a soft summer evening with the sun gone down, supper on the stove, his woman by his side, and his firstborn son in his arms, it almost seemed like enough.
Read on for an excerpt from Janet Dailey’s delightful holiday romance, JUST A LITTLE CHRISTMAS!
Believe in second chances this Christmas . . .
Ellie Marsden couldn’t wait to shake the dust of Branding Iron, Texas, off her heels and chase after bright lights, the big city, and a wealthy husband. Now she’s come home, divorced, a little disillusioned, and a whole lot pregnant. Leave it to her onetime highschool sweetheart, cattle rancher Jubal McFarland, to point out that citified Ellie is as out of place in small-town Texas as her teacup poodle. So why is there something about being back—and being with Jubal—that feels surprisingly right?
