by Janet Dailey
“It’s all right, Rose,” he said. “They were only words. You’re not anything like what that little jackass said you were.”
“How do you know?” She stared at the ground. “You just met me. You don’t know anything about me—and most of it, you wouldn’t want to know.”
He sat down next to her, their shoulders not quite touching. “I know what I see,” he said, turning his head to look at her. “I see a brave, spirited woman, a warrior if you will, fighting against all odds to make something good of her life—a woman who’s been knocked down and gotten up again and again. Rose, you’re one of the most courageous people I’ve ever met.”
His words had touched her. She sniffed back tears. “And you, Tanner McCade, are full of baloney, as my grandfather used to say. I’ll bet you say nice words like that to all the girls, except maybe the pretty ones who don’t need to be told how brave they are because, if you’re pretty, it doesn’t matter.”
A mutter of exasperation escaped his lips. Turning, he caught her chin, cupped it lightly with his fingertips, and turned her head to face him. Rose’s first impulse was to pull away. But his touch was light, and he made no move to control or force her.
Heart hammering, she met his gentle gray eyes as he studied her face, seeing all the flaws—the salty tear streaks, the little scars from the hard life she’d lived, and the stain that spilled like wine from her temple to her jaw.
He shook his head. “You’re not pretty, Rose. You’re beautiful. I thought so the first time I saw you—you made me think of a hawk, fierce and wild and strong.”
“Baloney!” The word emerged as a whisper.
He shook his head again. For the space of a heartbeat, she feared Tanner was going to kiss her. But to his credit, he didn’t. She was too raw, too fragile to accept that. Instead he simply released her and put his hand on his knee.
“Rose,” he said, “sometimes I don’t think you have any idea who you are or what you’re worth. That’s why it’s all too easy to believe jerks like Garn Prescott who see women only as objects to be used. Don’t listen to them.”
She looked away, not wanting him to see that his words were getting to her. She could feel herself crumbling, breaking apart inside. As the tears came, she pressed her hands to her face. Her shoulders shook.
“Rose,” he muttered, reaching for her. “Oh, damn it, Rose!”
He pulled her close and held her. Only then did she realize how much she’d needed it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TANNER HELD HER AS IF HE WERE CRADLING AN INJURED BIRD. HE could feel her womanly warmth, the pounding of her heart, and the gentle pressure of her curves against his body as she breathed. He could hear the little catch of her breath as she struggled to hold back full-blown sobs.
The subtle fragrance of her skin crept into his senses. It would be the most natural thing in the world, he thought, to crush her close against him, even kiss her. But he’d seen enough of Rose to be aware of the barriers she’d thrown up and to know that pushing those barriers could shatter her.
Could this tender, emotionally fragile woman have aimed a long-range rifle and fired a bullet at his head?
Holding her now, it didn’t seem possible. Yet the lawman in him couldn’t rule it out. Rose was full of surprises, and she was getting to him in more ways than one. His body had already responded to her nearness. He was rock hard and ready inside the prison of his jeans. Much more of this torture and she would become aware of it. Then he’d be in trouble.
He was about to ease her away from him when she spoke. “I don’t understand it. Why do the worst men consider me such an easy mark? Is it because I don’t look big enough to fight them off? Is it because I’m so ugly that they think I’d be grateful? What is it?”
Tanner cleared his throat, scrambling for the right answer, but it wasn’t there. “You’re anything but ugly, Rose. As for the rest, hormone-crazy boys like Garn and men like that jerk in the garage are apt to go after any woman in sight. Maybe you’ve just had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“That’s a sensible answer. I suppose it will have to do.” She smiled up at him, a glint of tears in her eyes. And suddenly Tanner knew the real answer to her question. She was beautiful, vulnerable, and completely alone. That combination would tempt any man. But it might not be wise to tell her that. With his body threatening to betray him, he decided to change the subject.
“Somebody shot me yesterday, Rose. I need to ask this question. Was it you?”
She drew back, a shocked expression on her face. “Of course not! What on earth makes you think I’d want to shoot you?”
“Because you’re working with Bull Tyler, or at least friends with him, and I was trespassing on his land. And because you knew right where to find me. For all I know, you could’ve been checking to make sure I was dead. As I remember, you even tried to take my gun.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Her eyes were practically shooting sparks. “Bull’s son found you first. I sent him back down the trail because the boy was upset and because somebody needed to be with his little brother. And I tried to take your gun because I was afraid you might wake up and shoot me with it.” She took a deep breath. “As for Bull Tyler, I’m not working with him. He’s not even my friend. I’m only trying to get back the land he stole from me—this land that my grandfather died protecting so I could have a home. He’s buried right over there, under that big tree trunk.”
Either she was the world’s greatest actress or she was telling the truth. Looking into her face and feeling the intensity of her emotion, Tanner had no doubt that she stood behind every word. But was she more than what he could see, more than what she had told him? Who was this woman?
“Ferg believes you killed his father,” he said.
“Believes it? He knows it! And he knows it was self-defense. He was there the night it happened. And as long as you’re asking, I also shot the brother of a drug lord in Mexico because he was trying to rape and kill me. If the cartel catches up with me, I’m dead or worse. That’s why I had to leave Río Seco and come back here. Is that enough to satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Lawman?”
Stunned into silence, he stared at her.
“When you came to my rescue in that garage,” she said, “the way you spoke and handled your gun told me you weren’t an ordinary cowboy. But I still can’t figure out why you’d work for a lying snake like Ferg.”
She had him. Telling her the truth might be reckless, but after her own brutal honesty, he owed her the same.
Opening an inner pocket of his vest, he took out his TSCRA ranger badge and handed it to her. Fashioned from a 1947 silver Mexican peso, it was round, with the head of a longhorn steer engraved in its center and lettering around the border.
“I’m working undercover to investigate a report of cattle rustling,” he said. “Ferg requested a ranger. I was sent because I was new and not many folks would know me.”
“How’s that going?” A hint of humor twinkled in her eyes as she returned his badge.
“Knowing Ferg, you can guess. I’m beginning to suspect he’s giving me the runaround.”
“Bull and Jasper have a saying—I’ve heard it so many times that I think it must be the Tyler family motto. ‘Trust a skunk before a rattlesnake and a rattlesnake before a Prescott.’ You’d do well to remember that.”
“Thanks, I’ll remind myself.” He paused, wondering how much he could learn from her without making her feel as if she was being grilled. “Ferg keeps telling me that when it comes to cattle rustling, I should check out Bull Tyler and his foreman.”
“Don’t waste your time. Jasper Platt is the most honest man I know. And as for Bull, he’d never stoop to stealing cattle. Land grabbing is more his style.”
“So you don’t think there’s any chance one of them took a shot at me?”
“Why should they? They might chase a trespasser off the Rimrock, but they wouldn’t shoot him. Anyway, the whole crew was off on the roundup
when it happened.”
“At least you saved me some time.” He looked down at her, taking in her smallness, her delicate features, and the marred beauty of her face with the mark that somehow seemed to suit her. He tried to imagine her shooting a Mexican gangster, the courage it must have taken.
“It seems we know a few of each other’s secrets, Rose,” he said. “Can I trust you to keep mine?”
“If I can expect the same from you. Friends—for now, at least?” She held out her hand.
“Friends.” Tanner accepted the handshake, reining back the urge to gather her into his arms and kiss her. It was more than an urge. It was more like a deep, hungry ache, and right now it was the last damned thing he needed.
“You’d better go,” she said.
“You’re staying here?”
“I’m going to camp on this land while I work out a way to fight for it legally—with any help I can find.”
“Camping here won’t be safe,” he said.
Her eyes blazed with determination. “Is anything safe—anything worth having?”
He left her standing by the grave, so alone and so vulnerable that he had to tear himself away. Rose was a bundle of spunk and courage. But given the dangers surrounding her, she was like a little bird flying into a tornado. And short of checking on her—dangerous in itself—there was nothing he could do about it.
Was he falling in love? But Tanner knew better than to entertain that notion. He was fascinated by Rose, even infatuated. And he wanted her the way any man would want a woman. But love? He gave a mental shake of his head as he mounted the horse he’d left in the trees beyond the creek. He would never love again. He had buried his heart in the ashes of a simple frame house in a small Wyoming town.
* * *
That afternoon, tired and dirty after unearthing a long line of rusty fence wire, Rose splashed her hands and face in the creek, smoothed her hair, and set out for the Prescott Ranch. She was taking a chance, just showing up without an invitation, but she’d lost her access to a phone when she’d left the Rimrock. She’d lost access to other things, too, including meals.
Out of principle, she’d taken nothing from the Rimrock kitchen. After a morning’s hard work with no breakfast, her empty stomach was growling. But hunger would have to wait for a trip to town. And the trip would have to wait until after she’d spoken with Ferg. Right now, her whole plan hinged on getting his help.
Feeling awkward, she drove up to the house and parked below the porch. She’d been here before, but there was something about the place, with its towering gables and gingerbread trim, that made her feel small and unimportant.
Climbing out of the cab, she glimpsed a few of the hands going about their work. Tanner wasn’t among them, and she chided herself for looking. He’d been friendly to her, but Rose knew better than to read more into his actions.
As she mounted the porch steps, she saw Garn lounging in the swing. He gave her a slow grin. “Change your mind?” he asked.
“I’m here to see your father,” she said.
“Go on in. The king is in his throne room down the hall. Just in case you’re wondering, Ferg Prescott may be the boss around here, but I’ve got a bigger dick.”
“If that’s the way you talk to women, I’m guessing you don’t get much chance to use it.” Rose walked through the open front door. Behind her, Garn burst into hoots of laughter.
Rose told herself she should have kept quiet and ignored the overgrown brat, as she walked past the gallery of stuffed trophy heads and made her way down the hall to Ferg’s office. She had a smart mouth and a bad habit of using it too freely, especially when somebody needed putting down.
Ferg’s office door stood ajar. Rose gave it a light rap. “Who’s there?” a voice grumbled from inside the room.
Her heart sank. “It’s Rose, Mr. Prescott. Rose Landro.”
“Rose!” His tone mellowed and became welcoming. “Come on in.”
She stepped into his office. Ferg rose to greet her, extending his hand across the massive desk. Rose accepted the handshake. She didn’t trust the man, but right now she needed his help.
He motioned her to a straight-backed chair that faced the desk, then resumed his own seat. “Now what can I do for you, dear girl? Garn mentioned that he saw you on that old creek property your granddad owned. Does that have anything to do with the reason you’re here?”
Rose inferred that Garn hadn’t told his father all that had happened on the creek. But either way, she couldn’t allow that to matter. “You invited me to call on you if I ever needed your help,” she said.
“That’s right. And I meant what I said. So tell me your story.” He gave her a sugary smile. He was making this easy, maybe too easy. But he was her only hope.
“You know that parcel is mine by inheritance, don’t you?”
“I do.” His light brown eyes were fixed intently on her. “And I know that Bull claims to own it now. I know that because I’ve tried to buy it from him, for a fair price of course.”
“Of course. But Bull can’t sell the property because it isn’t his. He took it from me illegally by changing the deed. And now that I want it back, he won’t budge. He’s refused to let me have it.”
“Too bad. But that’s Bull for you.” Ferg was all sympathy. “I take it you need me to twist his arm a little. Not physically, but maybe . . . legally. Yes?”
“Yes. Legally, I mean. I need a lawyer to help me prove my claim. Right now I can’t afford to pay anyone. But if I could just get some advice from the person who handles your legal affairs . . .”
“Say no more!” Ferg exclaimed. “I keep an attorney on retainer. I’m sure he’d be glad to advise you. His office is in Lubbock, but he has some court business in Blanco Springs this afternoon. I’ve already invited him for an early dinner. Why don’t you come, too? You can talk to him then, just informally, and he can give you some suggestions.”
“And if I need more than suggestions?”
“You mean, if you have to sue Bull to get your land back?”
“Something like that. Bull’s dug in his heels. Persuasion isn’t going to change his mind.”
“In that case, it would be my pleasure to help. And if you need a loan to fix the place up the way you want it, I’ll even cosign with the bank. Believe me, I’d rather have you for a neighbor than Bull.”
Still smiling, he stood and extended his hand. “Thank you for calling on me, Rose—may I call you that? Dinner will be at six-thirty. I’ll see you then.”
Rose accepted his handshake and left Ferg’s office. Garn was gone from the porch when she went outside, and there was no sign of Tanner. She climbed into her truck and drove away, feeling almost giddy. She was moving forward on her own, finally taking charge of her life. And if a deep inner voice whispered that she was making a deal with the devil, she willed herself to ignore it. Ferg Prescott was not a good person—that was a given. When it came to dealing with him, she would have to watch her back. But she needed all the help she could get, and sometimes the devil was the only help available.
* * *
After digging up some more wire, Rose filled a bucket from the creek and took a sponge bath inside the camper. The water was cold, the space cramped. But at least by the time she finished, she felt clean.
The few good clothes she had were folded in the bottom of her duffel. María had made her a quincianera dress for her fifteenth birthday party, which was like a coming out for Mexican girls. Rose lifted it from the duffel and held it up for inspection. María had done a beautiful job, but the ruffles and lace were better suited to a fifteen-year-old girl than a grown woman who wanted to be taken seriously. In the end Rose settled for a simple white blouse and a handwoven Mexican skirt, paired with leather sandals and plain silver earrings. There was no mirror in the camper. She would just have to trust that she looked presentable.
Her only working clock was the one on the dashboard of the pickup. When the numbers read 6:20, she started the en
gine and drove the back road to the Prescott Ranch. She pulled up to the house to find Garn waiting on the front porch. Bracing herself, she climbed out of the cab and mounted the steps.
He met her with a grin. “My, oh my, you clean up right nice, Miz Rose,” he said, affecting the mock Texas drawl he’d shed in his everyday speech.
“Don’t start with me, Garn,” she said. “I’ve got more important things on my mind than dealing with your silliness.”
“I know,” he said, dropping the drawl. “Dinner isn’t quite ready yet. I was hoping you’d have a minute to hear what I have to say. I guarantee it’ll be short and sincere.”
She followed as he beckoned her to a corner of the porch. “Well?” she asked as he stopped to face her.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said. “As my father reminded me, I was raised to be a gentleman. No gentleman talks to a woman the way I talked to you. Will you forgive me?”
His expression was as earnest as a coonhound’s. But this change of heart was a bit too sudden to suit Rose. She gave him a frown. “I might be willing. But you said some awful things to me. It’ll take time for me to forget them, and for you to show me that you’ve changed your ways. But meanwhile, I’ll agree to a truce. All right?”
“I guess that’s the best I can expect. Thanks.” Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his khakis, he turned toward the porch rail and gazed out over the flatland. “I’m my father’s only child—the only legal one, at least,” he said. “None of my mom’s other babies survived, and in the end, neither did she. So I’m all the family he’s got. And he can’t stand me. He doesn’t even try to hide it.”
“I’m sorry,” Rose said. “But at least you’ll inherit this ranch when he’s gone. You’ll be rich and powerful without having to lift a finger.”
His laugh was raw and bitter. “Let me tell you a secret. If and when I inherit this place, I’m going to sell every goddamned acre of it! I hate cattle—the way they bellow, the way they stink, and the way they always seem to shit right where you’re about to put your feet. I hate getting my hands dirty, and I get motion sickness on a horse. These days there are big syndicates that buy up ranches and run them like a business. They’ll snap this place right up and give me the cash, or make me a silent partner who collects income and never has to show up.”
