by Janet Dailey
“You’re saying we should give up?” Ferg cast a contemptuous glance at the son he’d never wanted. “Prescotts don’t give up. Haven’t you learned that by now?”
“Are you about to tell me you have a plan?” Garn’s eyebrow tilted, giving him that cynical expression Ferg had always hated.
“One plan, at least. You seem to like the little bitch well enough. You could marry her—maybe even knock her up.”
“What?” Garn’s jaw went slack. “No! I mean, she’s a sexy little piece, and I’d sleep with her at the drop of a hat. But marry her? Hell, the woman’s too old for me. And with that mark on her face . . .”
“There are remedies for things like that. Besides, you wouldn’t have to stay married forever—only long enough to become her legal heir.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Garn said. “But for your information, Dad, I’m planning a future in politics. When I get married, it’ll be to a proper girl with the family name and money to advance my career. If you’re so all-fired anxious to have the woman and the property in the family, you can damn well marry her yourself!”
With that, Garn stalked out of Ferg’s office and slammed the door behind him. Ferg shook his head, a bitter smile teasing a corner of his mouth. He’d been only half-serious about Garn marrying Rose. At least he’d had the satisfaction of seeing his son truly rattled—a rare thing these days. But damn Bull Tyler to hell for the way he’d tied up that creek property. This time there seemed to be no way around it.
He was pouring himself a shot of bourbon when the door opened again, this time without a knock. The man who slipped into the room, closing the door behind him, was muscular and weasel-eyed, with a military tattoo on his shaved head.
“I told you not to come here, Deke,” Ferg said.
“Then you should’ve brought me the cash at the Blue Coyote, like we agreed.” Deke Triplehorn spoke with a slight lisp.
“If you wanted to be paid, you should’ve done the job right.”
“I hit the bastard. I saw him fall off his horse and go down before I lit out.”
“You winged him. He’s fine, and madder than hell. In my book that’s not worth a nickel. I thought you were a dead shot.”
“Sun was in my eyes. But my time’s worth something.”
Swearing under his breath, Ferg opened a drawer, took $500 out of petty cash, and handed it to the man. The scheme to frame Bull for the cattle theft and the ranger’s murder had seemed like a good idea at the time. But too many things had gone wrong. He needed a simpler, better idea.
“You want I should try again?” Triplehorn asked.
“Not now. It’s too late for that. But there might be something else down the road. I’ll be in touch.”
“Fine.” Triplehorn pocketed the cash. “You know where to reach me.”
“I do. And don’t show up here again. It isn’t safe.”
After Triplehorn had left, Ferg downed the shot of bourbon and poured himself another. He didn’t enjoy working with half-crazy scumbags like Triplehorn, who’d blackmail his own mother if there was anything to gain by it. But he had enough dirt on the man to protect himself. And when certain matters needed arranging, it helped to know the kind of people who’d do anything for money.
Now what was he going to do about Bull, the woman, and that creek property?
* * *
From the shade of the porch, Garn watched Triplehorn drive off in his army surplus Jeep. The bastard had some nerve, coming to the house. But as far as Garn was concerned, he’d never been here.
Garn knew his father was a crook and that he hired scumbags like Deke Triplehorn to do his dirty work. But Garn’s only concern was his future in politics, and that meant keeping his own reputation spotless. That meant making like the three little monkeys—see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil. Someday the father he hated would be dead and gone. When that day came, Garn planned to put the ranch up for sale and use the money to advance his career, complete with a beautiful, blue-blooded wife and connections to powerful people.
But meanwhile, he’d promised to spend the summer here. It was like serving a sentence in hell. He hated the noise and odors of the animals and the crude manners of the hands who took care of them. He hated the sweat, the dust, and the hot sun. But most of all, he hated the boredom.
Maybe that was why he’d devised small rebellions, little acts of mischief that would have driven his father apoplectic had he known about them. This morning he’d relished giving Ferg the news about the transfer of the creek property. He knew his father had been expecting Rose to fall into his hands—to lend her money for legal fees and demand repayment as soon as she won her case. Now he was out of luck.
It had done Garn’s heart good to see his old man squirm. But boredom was already setting in again, and the thought of Rose roused fresh notions in his mind. As he’d told his father, she wasn’t wife material, but she was one sexy little package. He wouldn’t mind getting to know her better.
Garn whistled a tune as he walked down the steps. He would think on that and come up with a plan.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE NEXT MORNING, ROSE PULLED ON HER OLDEST WORK CLOTHES, breakfasted on the last of the cheese and crackers, and went outside to organize her day.
The storm had passed in the night, leaving behind the freshness of rain-scented earth. Rose took deep breaths, filling her lungs with the scented air. Petrichor, that was what her grandfather had called the wonderful smell she’d always loved. Maybe it was a good omen for a day that held so much promise.
The canvas tarpaulin had kept her gear dry. Rose studied the heap of tools, wondering what to start first. She’d planned to dig a latrine back in the trees, but last night’s visit from the wandering cow had brought home the need for a secure fence. Enclosing the entire thirty acres would take more time and materials than she could spare right now. But at least she could fence off the area around her planned house and garden.
Crouching beside the creek, she splashed her hands and face and slicked back her hair. Unbidden, her eyes scanned the willows on the opposite bank and the trees beyond. She couldn’t help hoping that Tanner might show up, but she saw no sign of him. Tanner had his own work to do, she reminded herself. And it wasn’t as if she needed his protection. She had her pistol in the truck in case she needed it. But so far, her most dangerous intruder had been that silly cow.
Since she’d already made some progress on digging up the old fence, she took up the task again. The rusty barbed wire from her grandfather’s fence line had long since been trampled into the ground. But much of it came free as she dug under it with her shovel. Unfortunately, she was going to need new fence posts. Either she would have to cut them from the small trees that were growing on the property or she would have to dig into her precious cash reserves and buy some in town.
She would need to buy other things as well—lumber, hardware, pipe fittings, windows and doors for her cabin . . . and she couldn’t work without food.
How did one go about building a cabin, anyway? To start with, she would need to draw up some kind of plan and make some decisions about materials. She’d always loved the idea of logs. But where would she get logs around here? And how would she move them by herself? Logs were heavy. Maybe she should think about something easier to move. Bricks were at least small. Or rocks—at least rocks were free if she could find enough. Or maybe adobes. She’d learned how to make adobe bricks out of mud and straw in Mexico. But would adobe hold up in heavy rain?
Once she had her materials, she would have to start by laying a foundation. That would mean digging a trench and filling it with cement to anchor the supports for the walls. And after that . . .
Rose sighed. What had she been thinking?
She gazed at her rig in dismay. She had no idea how to build a cabin. She hadn’t even figured out how to get the camper off the bed of the pickup so she could haul her supplies. Even living in the camper was harder than she’d imagined,
with no plumbing, no electricity, and barely room inside to stand up and turn around.
But never mind, she’d work it out as she went along. Maybe Jasper could give her some advice.
As if the thought could conjure him up, she heard the familiar growl of Jasper’s truck coming around the bend in the rough road. Leaning on her shovel, she gave him a wave of greeting.
He pulled up beside Rose and climbed out of his truck. One hand carried a covered metal baking pan. “Figured you might be hungry, so I brought you some breakfast,” he said.
Out of pride, Rose was about to protest that she’d already eaten breakfast. But when he raised the cover, the aromas wafting from beneath almost made her knees melt. French toast with maple syrup, sausages, and fried potatoes.
“Eat up,” he said, handing her a fork and pouring coffee from a thermos.
“You just saved my life.” Stripping off her gloves, Rose sank onto a stump and began eating. She was ravenous.
Jasper chuckled. “A friend of yours stopped by to see us this morning.”
“A friend?”
“Nice fellow named Tanner McCade. He seemed pretty worried about you, roughing it out here on your own.”
“No need for that.” Rose spoke between bites. “As you see, I’m doing just fine. Somebody should tell Tanner to mind his own business.”
“Blast it, Rose, look at you! You’re half starved, living like a homeless tramp in a box with no electricity, no bathroom, and nobody here if you get sick or hurt. Come to your senses, girl. How long do you think you can hold out here without help?”
“Things will get better. You’ll see.” Rose drained her coffee cup and held it out for more. “Actually, I could use some help with getting the camper off the pickup so I can haul supplies. Do I need a hoist or something?”
Jasper mouthed a curse. “What you need is a dose of common sense! Bull and I have talked it over. We care too much about you to let you live like this. Bull’s gone to check out an ad for a nice used travel trailer that we found in the paper. If it looks good, he’s going to buy it, have it towed here, and set up with water, propane, waste tanks, and a generator. Once you learn to do the maintenance, you’ll be fine, and we won’t lie awake nights worrying about you.”
Rose sighed. She’d wanted to manage without Bull’s interference. But for all her pride, she had to concede that Jasper was making sense.
“You know I wanted to do this on my own,” she said. “I wanted to build my own cabin.”
“With what, girl?” Jasper exploded. “Look around you. Are you going to chop down trees like the pioneers? Or spend a fortune on building supplies you don’t know how to use? Rose, if you want to live on your land, this is the best solution.”
She sighed again. “I know. But don’t you see? It’ll be Bull’s trailer, not mine. I’ll be living off his charity.”
“If that bothers you, you can figure out a way to pay him back.”
Rose handed him the empty pan, from which she’d scraped every last crumb. “All right, we’ll see how it goes. But I’m still going to need a fence. If you’re not busy, you’re welcome to help me salvage the wire and figure out where the post holes go.”
Jasper gave her a grin. “My pleasure,” he said. “Let’s get started.”
* * *
The trailer arrived late that afternoon. Just eight feet wide by nineteen feet long, it was small. But compared to the camper, it was a palace.
It was solidly built, the outside finished in shiny aluminum. The inside was a wonder of efficient design. From the double bed and built-in closet in the rear to the tiny bathroom, the compact but functional kitchen, and the cozy sitting area in the front, it was as charming as it was practical. In spite of her misgivings, Rose fell in love with it on sight.
Bull and Jasper exchanged knowing smiles as she dashed back and forth, opening the cabinets and drawers, checking out the miniature fridge and stove, trying out the bed.
“Now, Rose, the trailer isn’t livable yet,” Bull cautioned her. “The tanks and connections won’t be set up until sometime tomorrow. So you can plan to stay in the duplex tonight.”
“But why?” Rose demanded. “I slept in the camper without lights and water. Surely I can sleep here. I’ll be fine.”
Jasper threw up his hands. “Don’t look at me,” he said to Bull. “It took me most of the day to talk her into this.”
“All right, Rose,” Bull said. “But you’re to show up for supper tonight and for breakfast in the morning. I want to know you’re all right.”
He was bossing her again. Rose didn’t like it, but since he’d just done her a great kindness, maybe he thought he was entitled. She did mean to pay him back somehow. She hated being beholden to anyone, especially Bull.
While the two men were there, they helped Rose remove the camper from the pickup bed and stow it at the edge of the clearing. “It’s a piece of junk,” Bull said. “I can call somebody to pick it up.”
“Let’s wait on that,” Rose said. “It might come in handy as a storage shed, or I could even turn it into a chicken coop. Right now, I can’t afford to throw anything away.”
Bull grumbled but at least he didn’t argue. Rose could tell that it was going to be an uphill battle to keep him from taking charge.
“Now, don’t you worry about stuff like dishes and towels,” Jasper said. “Bernice has a box of things she was planning to donate to the church rummage sale. You can pick them up when you come to supper tonight.”
“And make sure you show up,” Bull said. “If you don’t, I’ll come over here and get you.”
Rose sighed as the two men drove away. Bull was already trying to take over her life. She would have to do something about that. But for now she could only be grateful for his help.
With darkness setting in, she rushed to move her few personal things to the trailer. In one of the bedroom’s built-in drawers, she found a set of sheets, washed and folded. She hummed a little tune as she put them on the bed. It would be pure heaven to sleep between clean sheets tonight.
Supper on the Rimrock was a simple meal of beef stew and fresh sourdough bread. The boys took up much of the conversation, talking about a school track meet. Beau had won in his age group and brought home a blue ribbon. Will had finished third in the older group but was gracious enough to let his little brother take the spotlight.
Rose had excused herself after the meal, thanking Bernice for the box of supplies. “You’re welcome to bring your laundry here, Rose,” Bernice had told her as she was leaving. “We can always visit while your things are in the wash.”
“Thanks for the offer. I’ll see how it goes.” Rose had noticed a Laundromat in town. Using it would mean one less obligation to the Rimrock. But she could think about that later.
Driving home over the rough road, Rose dodged the jackrabbits that seemed to make a sport of leaping through her headlights. She looked forward to spending the first night in her cozy new home, even without lights and water.
She parked next to the trailer and climbed out of the truck with the box Bernice had given her. The night air was mild, the peace and quiet broken only by the babble of the creek and the musical chirp of crickets in the undergrowth.
Rose had unlocked the trailer and set the box on the kitchen counter when a thought struck her. She hadn’t bathed since her last night in the duplex, and she’d just spent a long day digging up fence wire in the hot sun. Her skin was salty with the dried residue of her sweat. The clean sheets on the bed would be wasted if she didn’t wash.
There was no water in the trailer except in the small bottle she’d saved for drinking. But it was dark outside. A splash in the creek would refresh her and rinse off the sweat, and shouldn’t take more than a minute or two.
In the bathroom, she peeled off her dirty clothes. There were a couple of bath towels in Bernice’s box. After wrapping one around her and tucking it at the top, she tiptoed outside, raced barefoot to the creek, and waded in up to her knees. The
water was cold, but Rose, who’d taken plenty of cold baths in Mexico, was braced for the chill. Draping the towel on an overhanging tree limb, she dipped her hands in the water and began splashing herself.
The cool wetness felt delicious on her skin. Rose crouched, lowered her head, and let the water flow through her dusty hair. Clean, refreshed, and safe, she would sleep well tonight.
She’d nearly finished bathing when, from the far side of the creek, she heard the rustle of bushes and the unmistakable mutter of angry voices.
With a gasp of horror, she snatched the towel off the limb, flung it around her body, and dashed for the trailer.
* * *
Tanner had been patrolling the perimeter of the Prescott ranch, with plans to stop by and check on Rose, when he’d recognized Garn Prescott’s sleek black Porsche parked in the trees, twenty yards this side of the creek. The sight of the empty car had set off alarms in his head. If Ferg’s half-baked son had come to press his attentions on Rose, it wouldn’t be the first time. But damn it, it would be the last.
After dousing the lights and parking the ranch pickup at an angle to block the Porsche, Tanner had climbed out of the truck, closed the door with a quiet click, and walked forward in the direction of the creek.
Through the willows, he’d seen the outline of Garn Prescott. Garn’s back was toward him, his attention riveted on something in the creek.
Tanner’s mouth had gone dry as he realized what it was. Rose stood in the water. Her body, just visible in the first light of the rising moon was gloriously naked, her wet hair streaming down her back. Garn’s hands were in front of him. No question what he was doing.
“Turn around and zip your pants, boy.” Tanner’s voice was a low, menacing growl.
Garn flinched and turned around, fumbling with his fly. “You’ve got no business here, McCade. One word to my father and your job is toast.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Tanner saw a pale flash as Rose grabbed a towel and raced out of sight. At least she was safe for now.
