by Janet Dailey
Stella came back with the cold beer. Beau was just beginning to turn on the charm when the door burst open and flew back against the inside wall with a bang. Striding across the threshold with poison in his eye was Slade Haskell.
He headed straight for Beau’s table. “I thought that was your truck I saw outside, Tyler!” he growled. “What do you think you’re doing in here?”
Beau took a moment to size him up. Natalie’s husband was dressed in his work clothes. He smelled of alcohol, as if he’d had a few drinks wherever he’d come from.
“Hello, Slade,” Beau said with studied cordiality. “I was just having a cold one after a long, hard day. Care to sit down and join me?”
“I’d drink with the devil before I’d drink with you.”
“Suit yourself.” With a shrug, Beau popped the cap on his Corona and, ignoring the mug Stella had left on the table, took a swig from the bottle. Stella stood to one side, taking in the drama like a cat watching a pair of roosters.
“What’re you doing back in town?” Slade demanded. “If you’ve been fooling around with my wife again—”
Beau looked up at him, one hand balancing the beer bottle. “Get this through your thick head, Slade. I’m not fooling around with your wife. The last time I saw Natalie, she was with you. Maybe you ought to go home to her instead of hanging around here.”
If Beau had expected his words to mollify the man, he couldn’t have been more mistaken. Slade’s florid color deepened. His chest, shoulders, and belly seemed to swell. “You stay away from her, you son of a bitch, hear?” he snapped. “If I find out she’s been with you, I’ll punch her black and blue, and then I’ll come looking for you with a gun!”
Beau had been threatened before, and he could handle it. But Slade’s threat to hurt Natalie hit home and hit deep. Everything went hard and cold inside him. Setting his beer on the table, he rose, seized the big man by the front of his shirt, and yanked him so close that their faces were almost touching.
“So help me,” he rasped, “if you lay a finger on that woman, I’ll hunt you down and tear you apart with my bare hands!”
For an instant Slade was too startled to respond. But as Beau shoved him away, he regained his bravado. Shoulders hunched, he doubled his fists and danced like a boxer. “Why not now, Tyler? Put your money where your mouth is, you yellow coward. Let’s duke it out right here.”
Beau shuddered inwardly, thinking what he could do to Natalie’s husband if he let himself go. But self-control was at the core of his training. To misuse the skills he’d been taught in the military would be beyond reckless. It would be criminal.
“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t fight drunks.”
The only sound in the bar was the throbbing beat of an old Patsy Cline song. Surrounded by shocked silence, with the music ringing in his ears, Beau turned away and walked out the door. By the time his boots touched the asphalt, he could hear Slade screaming, “Come back, you coward! Come back and fight!”
Ignoring the man, he climbed into his truck, switched on the headlights, and headed for the highway. He’d seen some interesting dynamics tonight. He’d bet money that Stella and her skinhead bartender were up to their armpits in some kind of dirty business. But whether they had any connection to the girl’s murder was anybody’s guess. He’d missed the chance to sneak a photo of the man, but some of those tattoos, although camouflaged with quality work, had the look of a prison job.
As for Slade, he appeared to be little more than a jealous loudmouth. But the idea that he might hurt Natalie worried Beau. And he couldn’t interfere without making matters worse. Maybe he should alert Tori. If he couldn’t be there for Natalie, at least someone else should be aware of the danger.
Willing his clenched nerves to relax, Beau switched on the radio and watched the lights of the town fade away in his rearview mirror.
After Beau’s call, Tori sat at the kitchen table, staring at the phone and thinking. She shared his concern about Natalie, but there hadn’t been much she could tell him. Most of what she knew about her friend’s marriage was covered by lawyer-client privilege. But maybe that was just as well. Could Beau keep his distance if he knew that Slade had been unfaithful, that he’d come close to hitting his wife, and that Natalie was actually talking divorce?
Her advice to Natalie had been sound. There was no way Beau could be involved.
Rising, she busied herself with loading the dishwasher and wiping off the kitchen counters. From the bathroom she could hear the shower running as Erin got ready for bed. A few minutes later her daughter appeared in the kitchen, fresh and rosy in her pink robe and pajamas.
“Homework’s done,” she said. “Is it okay if I watch my TV show?”
“As long as you go straight to bed when it’s over. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
Erin started toward the den, then paused. “Have you heard how Daddy’s doing?”
“I just talked with your uncle Beau. Your dad’s doing a lot better. He should be home in a couple days. But he’ll need to rest for a while.”
“Can I still go to the ranch this weekend? I want to see Tesoro.”
Tori hesitated. Will had said it would be fine for Erin to spend the weekend as usual. But that was before that poor murdered woman had been found in the bog. With the killer still at large, Tori didn’t want her daughter out of her sight.
“We’ll see,” she said. “Maybe I can get you there long enough to spend a little time with your foal.”
Tori’s heart contracted as she watched her child scamper off to watch TV. Erin was on the brink of becoming a lovely young woman. Tori’s dreams for her included college, but for now Erin was anchored to the ranch. She had blossomed there, happiest among the cattle and horses. And Will, despite his issues with Tori, was a good father.
A good father.
Was that why she’d canceled her appointments and rushed off to the hospital the minute she’d heard he was there? Because he was Erin’s father?
Lute had hitched a ride into town with Ralph. He dreaded walking into the Blue Coyote and not seeing Jess there, but he wanted to pick up the fifty dollars that Slade had promised him. This time he’d earned every penny, calling in about the roundup, Will Tyler’s snakebite, and especially the murder investigation. Maybe this time Slade would be pleased enough to give him a bonus.
Slade wasn’t in the bar, but Stella gave Lute a wave and a friendly wink, a sure sign that she had the money for him. Playing it cool this time, he sat down at the bar, ordered a beer, and waited for her to come to him. There was a new waitress on duty tonight, prettily plump with lots of makeup and short black hair that looked dyed. He guessed she’d probably moved into Jess’s old room, but she wasn’t anything like Jess. Looking her over, Lute decided to pass on asking her out.
Stella came by a few minutes later. Instead of slipping him the envelope, she whispered in his ear. “Wander on back to the office, Lute. I’d like a word with you, private like.”
The office was down a back hallway past the restrooms. Following Stella’s suggestion to “wander,” Lute took a moment at the urinal, then came out and sauntered the rest of the way down the hall.
There wasn’t much to the office except a locked army-surplus desk with an old desktop computer on it, a spindle of receipts, a couple of wooden chairs, and a dozen cardboard cases of beer and liquor stacked against one wall. Lute was standing with his hands in his pockets, wondering if Stella might be coming on to him, when she walked in, closing the door behind her. “Have a seat,” she said in a voice that was all business.
Fishing a key out of her shirt, she opened a locked drawer and handed Lute the envelope he’d been expecting. “Nothing I say leaves this room. If it does, I know how to make you very sorry. Understand?”
Lute nodded, fingering the edges of the three bills inside the envelope. His pulse skittered as he waited for her to speak. Was he in some kind of trouble? Did it have something to do with Jess?
“I know what you do
for Slade to earn this,” she said. “How would you like to earn more? Say, an extra hundred?”
“A hundred a week?” He gasped. Combined with fifty from Slade, it sounded like a small fortune. “What would I have to do?”
“Pretty much what you’ve been doing. Only you’d be doing it for me.” Stella inspected a small chip in her bloodred nail polish. “Slade and I have a few business deals going. I want to make sure he’s playing straight. You’d go on working for Slade and collecting your fifty dollars. But everything you report to him, you’d report to me, too, and you’d also keep me up on whatever Slade’s doing.”
Lute’s hopes sagged. “Fine. Trouble is, I don’t see that much of Slade. I only talk to him once in a while on the phone. And except for the trucks, I don’t even know what kind of business he’s in.”
Stella’s laugh sounded flat and metallic in the small space. “I’d say that’s about to change. Slade’s been telling me what a sharp lad you are. I know he’s planning more jobs for you. So if you keep your eyes and ears open, you could find yourself sittin’ right pretty.”
Stella rose and held out her hand. “Well, Lute, do we have a deal?”
Still taking it all in, Lute gave her his handshake.
“I’ll give you a phone number to call,” she said. “You can use the phone you use for Slade. Just make sure you keep the numbers straight in your head, and don’t say anything till you hear my voice. All right?”
Lute nodded. This was the break he’d been waiting for. In no time at all, he’d have money for a decent car, nice clothes, and all the girls he wanted. And all for being a spy—almost like James Bond.
Will had been home for ten days, but his swollen leg still pained him. Unable to put weight on it, he clumped around the house on crutches and relied on the Kubota mini tractor to get him around the ranch yard. Bed rest or the use of his father’s old wheelchair might have speeded his recovery, but Will would have none of either.
Pain and frustration hadn’t helped his disposition. The attendant hired to look after him had thrown up his hands and quit four days ago, with Will insisting he could take care of himself. As Bernice had muttered at the end of one especially trying day, “Glory be, it’s like having Bull Tyler back among the living!”
He rode his brother mercilessly about the management of the ranch. Beau tried to bear it with patience, reminding himself that Will had endured years of the same treatment from their father, but there were times when he was tempted to call the DEA in Washington and tell them he no longer required the leave of absence he had requested. It was only the awareness of how much he was needed at the ranch that kept him from turning his back and flying to D.C.
With Sky off scouting for colts to train and Will unable to mount a horse or sit comfortably in a vehicle, Beau had his hands full. The roundup was over, but there was plenty of other work to be done. In addition to the usual daily chores, the calving season was under way in the lower pasture. On the empty land there were fences to be mended and clumps of mesquite to be chained. Up on the Caprock, the windmills and pipelines that fed the watering tanks had to be kept in good repair, the cattle checked and guarded by the men in the line shack. And there was the endless, vital record-keeping to be done for the ranch, which Beau had taken over when he’d agreed to stay. Now, in addition to the busy days, he was spending his evening hours at the computer. Sometimes until long after midnight.
His most notable accomplishment so far was upgrading the ranch’s security. He’d attached small signaling devices to the ranch vehicles, trailers, and other equipment and installed a tracking program on the computer. Will had grumbled about the expense, declaring that nothing had ever been stolen from Rimrock, but in this, at least, Beau had overruled him.
For now the murder investigation had gone cold. The lawmen had collected their evidence and moved on to matters more pressing than the killing of a prostitute.
Running hard day and night, Beau had found his one refuge of calm and wisdom in Jasper. The old man had seen the ranch through good times and bad, and his long-range view gave Beau the perspective he needed to keep up his spirits. Even more valuable was Jasper’s in-depth knowledge of the ranch and the day-to-day things that needed to be done.
Tonight the two of them sat on the porch, listening to the crickets and watching the sunset fade into twilight. Supper was over, and Will had fallen asleep in one of the big parlor chairs with his leg resting on a footstool. For Beau, it was a rare, quiet moment in his hectic day, a chance to breathe easy while he and Jasper planned the next day’s work.
“If you want to start chaining brush tomorrow, get Ralph and Packer to do the job,” Jasper was saying. “They did it last year, and did fine. But make sure they check the oil in the tractors first. You don’t want to burn out the engines.”
“Thanks, I’ll make a note on that.” Beau had come to rely on Jasper’s experience, and he made sure Jasper knew it. Bathed in the glow of appreciation, the old foreman stood a little straighter these days and even walked with a bit of spring to his step.
Weighing on Beau’s mind tonight was another matter—a minor incident that had happened that afternoon. He’d walked into the stallion barn to find Lute sprawled on a pile of clean straw, fast asleep with an empty beer can next to his foot. When Beau had dressed him down for sleeping and drinking on the job, the young slacker had responded with a smart-mouthed remark that would have gotten any other employee fired on the spot.
Beau would have sent him packing, but Lute was Sky’s relative, and Sky was gone. Knowing how Sky wanted to help the boy, Beau was reluctant to fire him without Sky’s involvement. At the time, he had settled for tearing a verbal strip off Lute’s hide and threatening him with worse if he didn’t straighten up. Lute had muttered an excuse, picked up his shovel, and resumed his work.
That should have been the end of it, but as he was walking out of the stable, Beau had glanced back over his shoulder. He’d caught Lute staring at him with a look of such intense hatred that it made his blood run cold. Beau had chosen to keep walking. Now he wondered if he should have taken action then and there. The boy was trouble.
Beau was about to ask Jasper’s advice when a pair of headlights appeared around the distant bend. Coming up the long drive, fast enough to leave a plume of dust in its wake, was a big, low, white car. As it came closer, still visible in the twilight, Beau recognized it as a vintage high-end Cadillac.
“Oh, hell.” Jasper stood. “If that’s who I think it is, I don’t want to be here.” He hobbled off the porch, pausing before he headed around the corner of the house. “Bull always said to look out for snakes and Prescotts—especially if they show up at your door. Damned good advice if you ask me.”
By the time the mafioso-sized car pulled up to the entrance, the old man was out of sight. Beau rose, waiting at the top of the steps as both front doors of the Cadillac swung open. Congressman Garn Prescott, wearing tan slacks and a plaid Western shirt with a bolo tie, stepped out of the passenger side. His driver was slower to exit. Beau glimpsed high-heeled boots extending beyond the door, then long, slim, denim-clad legs.
Behind Beau, the porch light clicked on. Its glow revealed a long-limbed beauty with a model’s figure and a wild mane of auburn hair. Clad in a simple ballet-style black tee and weathered jeans, she looked like a young Julia Roberts—very young, Beau realized as the light struck her face. Probably not much over twenty. Had the congressman found himself a hot new girlfriend? In a place like D.C., stranger things had been known to happen.
“Congressman.” Beau came down the steps, hand extended, to welcome the visitor. Garn Prescott wasn’t his favorite person, but Texas hospitality was an honored tradition.
“Good to see you, Beau.” Prescott’s handshake was a politician’s, firm and hearty. “How’s Will? I was on the way home from picking up my daughter at the airport and thought I might drop by for a minute and check on him. Is he up to having visitors?”
Beau glanced at the girl,
who was hanging back, as if she found her father’s manner embarrassing. Prescott’s daughter. Now that was a surprise.
“Will’s doing better. He still needs rest, but you’re welcome to come in and visit. You, too, Miss Prescott.” Beau glanced back at the girl. “It is Miss Prescott, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Lauren.” The girl spoke with quiet confidence, but seemed ill at ease. Until now, Beau hadn’t even known Prescott had a daughter. This one struck him as a princess type, especially given what he recognized as $800 boots on her elegantly narrow feet.
“Lauren’s my daughter by my first wife,” Prescott explained. “She grew up with her mother, but now that she’s finished college, and since she’s my only child and likely to inherit my share of the ranch, I’ve talked her into spending some time here.”
“Really, Daddy, why should Mr. Tyler care about all that?” Lauren demanded.
“I want people to know who you are and how you fit into the family, Lauren,” Prescott said. “It’s important.”
Beau mulled over what he’d heard as he ushered the pair through the entry. Prescott’s longtime wife, Evelyn, had died of a sudden stroke two years ago. Until now, Beau hadn’t known that the congressman had been married before Evelyn or that he had a child.
The sound of voices had awakened Will. He was sitting up, looking tired but alert as Prescott strode into the parlor.
“Please don’t get up, Will.” He hurried across the room to shake Will’s hand. “I heard about your mishap, and I’ve been concerned about you. How are you doing?”
“Better than the damned snake, thanks. Have a chair, Garn. I couldn’t help overhearing that this young lady’s your daughter. Please have a seat, too, Miss Prescott. Beau, would you mind rustling up something for these folks to drink? I’ll have the same. What’ll it be?”
