by Janet Dailey
“And what will you do then?” Rose asked, intrigued in spite of herself.
“I’ll invest the money and go into politics. I’ve already got an internship lined up this fall in Washington, DC. Once that’s done—”
The clang of the dinner bell ended the conversation. Rose allowed Garn to escort her into the dining room. She still didn’t like the young man, but at least she understood him better. He was unhappy and insecure and wanted a different life than the one fate and birth had thrust on him.
Even that didn’t excuse the way he’d treated her at the creek, though. If their paths crossed again, she would do her best to tolerate the young man. But she would never feel at ease with Garn Prescott.
Ferg and a thin, graying man in a blue suit were standing by the cabinet in the corner, having a drink. As they took their places at one end of the long table, Ferg introduced the stranger as Cantwell Sutherland, the Prescott family lawyer.
“Miss Landro.” Sutherland greeted her with a coldly formal handshake. “Ferg, here, has been telling me your story.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Sutherland.” Rose assumed that Ferg had left out the part where she’d killed his father—which would be tantamount to an admission that he’d lied when he’d accused Bull.
“Sit down. We can talk about it while we eat,” Ferg said.
There were just four of them at the table, eating from plain, white china plates on a rumpled cloth. The cook, who walked with a limp and looked like an aging cowboy, brought in a platter of leathery roast beef, along with lumpy mashed potatoes, canned peas, and watered-down gravy. It wasn’t the best, but Rose had eaten worse, and she was starved. She made a good show of filling and emptying her plate. Garn watched her in amused silence, smiling as if he’d heard a secret joke.
Between bites, a sanitized version of how she’d lost her property to Bull had emerged. Sutherland had listened with mild interest, maybe because it didn’t involve his making a handsome fee.
“So, did you ever see the deed to your grandfather’s property, Miss Landro?” he asked.
“No,” Rose said. “My grandpa was pretty secretive. He kept it locked away and hidden, even from me. But he told me he’d made out the deed so the land would go to me. All I had to do was sign the transferred deed and register it at the county office. But after he died, Bull got his hands on the deed, altered it somehow, and filed it under his own name. I never even saw it.”
“And there’s no copy in the recorder’s office.”
“No. I asked.”
“Then it seems to me . . .” Sutherland spoke slowly, as if pondering each phrase. “It seems that what you need to do is get the court to subpoena the original deed from Mr. Tyler and hire an expert to determine how it was altered. With that done, you could take the evidence to court and make your claim.”
Rose felt as if she were shrinking in her chair. She was already out of her depth. “How much would that cost?” she asked.
“I’d have to do some checking. But I could make an estimate and get back to you.”
Rose knew what that meant. The cost, for her, would amount to a small fortune, more than she could ever hope to pay. And asking Ferg to loan her that amount would surely involve giving him a lien on the land—which would be like bargaining away her soul. She saw the smile on Ferg’s face—a smile that fled as soon as he realized she was looking at him. Yes, he was thinking the same thing. This was a trap.
“Can’t I base my claim on the fact that I’m my grandfather’s only living descendant?” she asked the lawyer.
“Can you prove it, Miss Landro?”
Rose’s heart dropped. She’d never given a thought to the question. But her grandfather was dead and buried. So was her mother, who was his estranged daughter. She’d managed to keep her birth certificate, but everything in the way of photos, letters, and other evidence had been lost after her mother’s death, when the state had placed Rose in a foster home.
She knew beyond doubt that she was the granddaughter of Cletus McAdoo. But as far as anyone else was concerned, she might as well be nothing more than a runaway orphan who’d found her way to his shack and been taken in by the old hermit.
Just one person had spoken with the old man and could bear witness that he’d believed her to be his granddaughter. Unfortunately, that person was Bull Tyler.
“Can you prove the blood relationship, Miss Landro?” the lawyer asked again.
Rose shook her head. At least she understood her options. But none of them were good. “Let me think about this. If I need your help I’ll let Mr. Prescott know.”
Not much chance of that, she thought as the cook hobbled in with squares of dry-looking yellow cake. Her appetite gone, she washed down bites of dessert with sips of sour lemonade. If she chose to pursue a suit against Bull, she would have to mortgage her land to Ferg Prescott—a mortgage she could never hope to pay off. Looking across the table at Ferg’s smug face, she realized that was what he’d had in mind all along.
* * *
At the next lull in the conversation, she excused herself, thanked her host and the lawyer, and made her escape.
As she crossed the porch, her eyes probed the darkness, seeking one tall figure, one rugged face. But Tanner was nowhere in sight. Time to stop playing the fool, Rose chided herself. Tanner had better things to do than hang around keeping an eye on her. She’d be smart to forget about him and look out for herself.
Still, driving back to her land, where she planned to camp, she couldn’t help thinking about him. Every word she’d told him about herself had been true. But had he been as honest with her? She’d seen his badge. She knew he wasn’t really working for Ferg. But she’d sensed a wall around him. He had shown her his job—but not the man he was. Giving him her trust would be more than she dared to risk.
Pulling up next to the fallen tree, she took her pistol from under the seat, cocked the hammer, and climbed out of the cab. By now it was almost dark. Across the creek, willows rippled in the night breeze. Crickets chirped in the undergrowth. The babble of the creek was peaceful, the shadows quiet. Still, Rose knew that this wasn’t a safe place to spend the night. She would sleep with her pistol beside her and probably lie awake, listening for any sound or motion that might signal danger.
After locking the cab, she went around to the back of the camper and opened the door. The bed was above the cab. She would have to climb over her pile of tools and belongs to get onto it. But right now, that couldn’t be helped. She could arrange the place better for living tomorrow.
Getting ready for bed involved stripping off her clothes in the dark and finding a nightgown in her duffel. There were no sheets, and she could only hope the mattress wasn’t too dirty. Dragging a quilt behind her, she climbed onto the bed, rolled the comforter around her, and closed her eyes.
She was exhausted. It would have surprised her to know that she had fallen asleep almost at once.
* * *
From across the creek, Tanner watched her settle for the night. He had scouted the shadows and satisfied himself that there was no immediate danger. But nothing was going to happen to Rose on his watch.
Her account of killing the drug lord who’d raped her, then going on the run from the cartel, seemed almost too fantastical to be true. But one look into Rose’s frightened eyes compelled him to believe her. His instincts told him that she was honest to the bone and unspeakably brave, with little more than grit and courage to protect her. Yet Tanner sensed that in her heart she was afraid.
As far as he knew, this small woman had killed two evil men. Those acts would be burned into her memory. She would carry them with her for the rest of her life. And that was just a glimpse she’d given him into the past that had made her a battered refugee from her own private war. What else was she hiding? What else lay behind the fear he’d seen in those breathtaking sunflower eyes?
As a lawman, he’d had no experience with drug cartels. But he’d heard and read about them. The ones that ope
rated south of the border were ruthless enough to wipe out entire towns, mowing down men, women, and children and shoveling their bodies into mass graves. Even the thought of the things they’d done made him shudder.
If these kinds of monsters were trailing Rose, she was in grave peril. And yet she remained defiant, camping out here alone on the land she’d resolved to claim, stubborn, determined, and so vulnerable that Tanner ached for her. Every instinct in his body cried out to protect her—if not from the cartel, at least from the unseen dangers that lurked in the shadows on a quiet Texas night.
For the space of a long breath, he stood watching the pickup. Then he went back to his horse, untied his bedroll from the back of the saddle, and returned.
Finding a level spot, he laid out the bedroll, checked his pistol, and lay down on his side, facing the creek. He didn’t plan to sleep much. All that mattered was making sure she was safe.
CHAPTER NINE
THE MORNING BIRDS ROUSED TANNER FROM A LIGHT DOZE. HE yawned, stretched, and sat up, eyes and ears probing the pewter dawn. Rose’s pickup and camper sat undisturbed in the clearing across the creek. A flock of quail skittered under the wheels and melted into the trees. A good sign, Tanner observed, as he stood, stretched, and fingered the tender bullet wound on the side of his head. The birds would be exploding into the air if anybody was prowling around.
All the same, he kept watch, melting back into the trees as the sky began to lighten. Rose would accuse him of babysitting her if she knew he’d spent the night here. All the same, he would wait until he knew she was awake and safe before he went back to start his work at the ranch. He hadn’t slept much, but a good strong cup of bunkhouse coffee should be enough to wake him for the day.
There was no sign of movement in the camper. He was wondering whether he should check more closely to make sure Rose was all right when an older blue pickup appeared in the distance, bouncing over the rutted trail from the direction of the Rimrock.
Tanner slipped back into deep shadows and drew his pistol, waiting as the truck rumbled closer, the driver making no effort to hide or sneak. As the truck pulled next to the camper, Tanner heard the honk of a horn. The driver’s side opened, and a man walked around to the camper’s back door. Tall and beanpole skinny, he was dressed in faded denims and a battered Stetson. He appeared unarmed, and he wasn’t behaving like an enemy, but Tanner wanted to make sure he was harmless.
The stranger rattled the door of the camper. “Rose! Are you in there, girl? Are you all right?”
A muffled reply came from inside the camper.
Tanner exhaled and holstered his weapon. Evidently Rose was safe and among friends. Time to hit the trail and start his own day.
* * *
“Jasper?” Rose climbed over her pile of tools and supplies and flung open the camper door. “How’d you know I’d be here?”
“And where else would you be?” Jasper grinned as he looked Rose up and down. “Lordy, but you’re a sight. You look like you spent the night in a loaded cattle car. Why didn’t you sleep at the ranch? You had a good bed in the duplex.”
“You know why.” Rose ran a hand through her tangled hair and tugged the ripped neck of her nightgown onto her shoulder. She’d spent a restless, mosquito-plagued night in the camper, only falling asleep a few hours before dawn. “Bull won’t budge on giving my land back. It’s war. I’ve claimed this ground, and I’m not giving it up.”
“So what are you fixin’ to do, build barricades? Shoot all comers? Blast it, Rose, you always were a stubborn little mite. Maybe it’s time you stopped digging yourself deeper and listened to reason.”
Rose rubbed at a mosquito bite on her arm. “So, what are you doing here, Jasper? Babysitting me?”
He shook his head. “Miss Rose Landro, I’m here to deliver you a formal invitation to breakfast at the Rimrock—now. So get your duds on and come with me. Bull’s orders.”
Rose rushed to unscramble her thoughts. Bull could have easily found out she’d gone to Ferg for help last night. He was probably mad enough to spit hot lead. But he didn’t own her, and she didn’t have to come when he beckoned.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking, girl,” Jasper said. “But Bull wants to palaver. It appears to me you’ve got nothing to lose by hearing him out. Besides, I know damn well you’re hungry. Now let’s get a move on.”
With a grumble of acquiescence, Rose climbed back inside the camper and pulled on her work clothes. Jasper was right. At this point she had nothing to lose. After all, Bull could only get so mad.
Minutes later, she’d dressed, swept back her hair, and splashed her face in the creek. That would have to do. At least it would be good enough for facing Bull.
Jasper opened the door of his pickup for Rose to climb in. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not packing a gun.”
“I didn’t expect you to. You may be a stubborn little hothead, but you’re not crazy—although I’m beginning to have my doubts.” Jasper started the truck. The engine roared as the heavy tires bounced over the ruts and hollows. “Lord, girl, you can’t stay out here alone. It isn’t safe.”
“I’ve survived worse than this, Jasper.” Much worse, Rose thought. And if the cartel ever tracked her down . . .
Her thoughts shifted as the heart of the Rimrock Ranch came into view—the house and barn, the corrals and outbuildings that provided a home for people she cared about, in spite of her differences with Bull. Could she count on them to protect her if Don Refugio’s thugs showed up? She thought about Bull and his sons, about Bernice and Jasper and the hands who’d treated her with respect and kindness. No, she couldn’t risk these precious people. If the enemy came after her, she would face them alone—on the land that was her heritage.
Jasper pulled the truck up to the house. Only the dogs rose from the porch and came down the steps to greet them. Rose patted their shaggy heads. The boys would be off to school by now, and Bernice was probably busy in the kitchen. As for Bull . . .
But that remained to be seen.
Jasper accompanied her up the steps and across the porch but paused at the door. “Aren’t you coming in with me?” Rose asked, uneasy at the prospect of losing her ally.
He shook his head. “Not this time. It’s to be just you and the big boss. You’re on your own.”
“At least wish me luck.”
“You’re going to need more than luck.” He nudged her shoulder, giving her a push through the open doorway. “You go for it, girl.”
Chin up, Rose walked through the shadowed great room toward the light in the dining room. The table was set like a feast for royalty with platters of ham and sausage, fresh biscuits, fried potatoes, and Bernice’s airy scrambled eggs with cheese. Some subtle rustlings from beyond the closed kitchen door told her Bernice was there, but Rose guessed that the woman had orders not to disturb her boss.
Bull sat like a king at the head of the table, his face a study in stone. “Sit down, Rose.” His deep, gravelly voice revealed nothing. “Have some breakfast.”
Rose’s appetite had fled, but she filled her plate with a respectable amount of food, then glanced up at Bull. “Is this supposed to be my last meal?” she asked.
Her joke didn’t draw so much as a flicker of a smile. “Just eat,” he said.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Rose said.
“We’re not here to answer your questions.” His scowl deepened. “Eat. Your food’s getting cold.”
She took a bite of biscuit, which melted in her mouth. “Well,” she persisted. “I still want to know—”
“Damn it, Rose!” Bull’s fist crashed onto the table, jingling glasses and cutlery. “I swear you could irritate the spines off a prickly pear! Just shut up, eat your breakfast, and listen to me, all right?”
“Go ahead.” Rose nibbled a forkful of scrambled egg. “I’m listening.”
Bull refilled his coffee mug from the carafe on the table, took a sip, and set the mug down with a thud. “For starters, I kn
ow you went to see Ferg last night and that his sleazy lawyer was there. And I’m pretty sure I know what you talked about.”
“Nothing was decided,” Rose said. “We just talked. I wanted to know what my options were. If you’re so upset, why are you feeding me?”
“Rose—”
“Never mind, go on.”
“You said nothing was decided. But if you’re as sharp as I think you are, I’m betting you learned a thing or two? Am I right?”
Rose nodded, seizing on the question, wherever it might lead. “I did. I learned that I should trust a skunk before a rattlesnake, and a rattlesnake before a Prescott. Is that the right answer?”
Bull’s left eyebrow slid upward. “Not bad. And can you tell me why?”
“Because if I were to accept Ferg’s terms, take him up on his offer to lend me money for a lawsuit against you, he could steal my land right out from under me.”
“A lawsuit? Good God, Rose, would you really have taken me to court?” Bull seemed more amused than angry.
“I still plan to. Whatever you did to alter that deed and get it recorded in your name, it couldn’t have been legal. When I subpoena the original deed, I should be able to prove it!”
“You can’t do that on your own. And a lawyer won’t be cheap. Where will you get the money?”
“I told Ferg I’d think about it. It wasn’t a no. I just have to figure out a way to protect myself before I agree to anything.”
Bull took a long, slow sip of his coffee. His arresting blue eyes were surprisingly calm. “Rose, why do you think I asked you to this nice breakfast this morning?”
Rose stared at him. “I don’t really know, do I? Suppose you tell me.”
“I have a business proposition for you.”
