by Janet Dailey
After supper, he stood on the front porch, watching clouds drift past the moon. In two more days he’d be leaving this place. In a way he found himself looking forward to being back in Texas again. He enjoyed his new job and was anxious to prove his worth on some serious cases. But Texas was not his home. He felt like even more of an outsider there than he did here, on the ranch where he’d grown up.
Only in Rose’s arms had he felt he was where he belonged.
Clint had come out to stand beside him. “You don’t have to leave,” he said. “You could call your boss in Texas and quit your job. That’s all it would take.”
Tanner shook his head. “I understand that you could use me here, but I’m not ready. When I leave Texas, I want it to be with a job well done behind me. Otherwise I’ll feel like a quitter.”
“Is that all?” Clint asked. “I know you had a hard time here, after losing Annie and Ethan. But you can’t mourn them forever. You can’t let the memories and the guilt keep you from coming home where you belong.”
“I can tell myself that. But I’m just not ready. Yesterday I went to the hill where we buried them. It was peaceful there, with wild violets blooming on the graves. I stood there and waited, as if I were hoping for some sign of forgiveness, or at least a feeling that all was well with them. But nothing came. I only felt sadness, barely dulled by time. They’re gone. Just gone. And I’m to blame. Some things will never change.”
“I never questioned the rightness of choosing this life,” Clint said. “You were always the restless one. Even when you were married, I could tell you were dreaming of something more exciting—maybe that’s why you took that deputy job.”
“We needed the money,” Tanner said. But Clint was right. He’d taken the job because he wanted a change—and that change had cost him everything.
He didn’t have all the answers. He only knew that, much as he loved Wyoming’s wild beauty, he wasn’t ready to come back here for good.
Two days later he finished packing his truck, said good-bye to his brother’s family, and took the highway south. Clive was expecting him first thing in the morning. He would be there, ready to go wherever he was assigned.
Would he see Rose again? But he couldn’t think about that now. To go back to her, love her, and then say good-bye again wouldn’t be fair. It would only leave her hurt and bitter.
Turning the radio volume all the way up, he focused on the road ahead and the job that awaited him in Texas.
* * *
Rose had set up the lamb pen in a grassy clearing, on the far side of the new chicken coop. She’d covered the open area with netting to discourage the big hawks and golden eagles that were known to prey on young animals. So far, after a few days, the four lambs were thriving. She was still bottle-feeding them twice a day, but they were beginning to nibble the grass and hay in their pen. Over the next few weeks she would wean them. Then they would be ready to venture out of their pen and explore their new home.
On the morning of the fourth day, Jasper showed up to help her finish the chicken coop. Rose was weeding her vegetable garden when his truck stopped outside the fence. He climbed out of the truck, came into the yard through the gate, and stopped as if he’d just walked into a brick wall.
“Lord save us, girl!” His face had gone slightly pale. “What do you think you’re doing with those?”
Rose sighed. She’d hoped Jasper, at least, would understand. But she should have known better. “I’m raising them to sell in the fall—hopefully for enough profit to help me through the winter. I got a great deal on these animals, including the pen. If I can make good money, I plan to raise more sheep next year.”
He stared at the lambs, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t mind them myself. My Sally raised some lambs on her farm in the hill country. But Bull hates sheep. He’ll have a stroke when he hears about this!”
“Bull doesn’t have any say in this. The agreement we signed gives me the right to use my land any way I want. That includes raising sheep. When they’re bigger, I can graze them on that open range to the north. He won’t have any say in that, either.”
“But why spit in his face, Rose? Bull’s been good to you. You could buy a calf from him, raise it, and sell it for about as much as you’ll be getting for these lambs.”
“Maybe,” Rose said. “But I know about sheep. The Ortegas raised them in Mexico. I’ve herded them, birthed them, fed them, nursed them when they were sick. I can handle sheep. And I like them!”
Jasper walked over to the pen and stuck a finger through the steel mesh. A lamb latched onto it, sucking with its little pink mouth. He chuckled as he pulled his finger away. “They’re cute little critters, all right. But that won’t make any difference to Bull.”
“Do you have to tell him? He doesn’t come around much.”
“Bull is my boss and my friend,” Jasper said. “I can’t keep this from him. I’ll be telling him today. He’s going to be madder than hell. And it won’t just be Bull. Every rancher in the county hates sheep on the rangeland. Once words gets around, you’ll make enemies—enemies you don’t need right now.”
“You’re saying I could be in danger? I can’t believe that, Jasper. This is the twentieth century, not the Old West.”
“All I’m saying is that the sooner you get rid of these lambs—any way you can—the better off you’ll be. If you need to earn money, talk to Bull. He can find some work for you on the Rimrock.” He scowled down at the lambs for a long moment, then turned away. “Come on, let’s get the coop finished so I can bring the chickens over for you.”
They finished the work in tense silence. Fortunately there wasn’t much left to do on the coop, just stapling the mesh to the framework, securing it in the ground, and attaching the door.
Was Jasper right? Rose wondered. Could she really be in danger? Ezra Perkins had mentioned that he’d been raising lambs for years, but he’d done it on his farm, not between the boundaries of two ranches and open rangeland. Maybe the lambs hadn’t been such a good idea after all. But never mind. Come hell or high water, she was determined to make her plan work.
They finished the coop, and Jasper put his tools in the truck.
“When are you going to tell Bull?” Rose asked.
“As soon as I see him,” Jasper said. “I’m hoping you’ll take my advice. I’d hate for things to go bad between you and Bull, or for you to come to any harm.”
Rose watched him drive away. Jasper meant well, she told herself. But as he’d made clear, his first loyalty was to Bull. If she clashed with the boss of the Rimrock, she could expect no help from the man she considered her most steadfast friend.
By the time she’d finished weeding the garden, it was time to give the lambs their late-day feeding. Rose was inside the trailer preparing four bottles of milk replacement formula when she heard the sound of Jasper’s truck pulling up outside the gate. Leaving the bottles on the counter, she went outside to meet him.
This time Jasper hadn’t come alone. The back of his truck held baskets and crates, containing the promised hens and rooster. And that wasn’t all. When the passenger door of the truck opened, two small figures tumbled out and raced across the yard.
“Jasper says you’ve got baby lambs!” Beau was breathless with excitement.
“We want to see them,” said Will.
As Jasper came around the truck, his gaze met Rose’s. “I may have gotten myself into a peck of trouble,” he said.
“Did you tell Bull about the lambs?” Rose asked.
He shook his head. “Bull’s gone to Lubbock on business. He won’t be back till tonight. But these two rascals heard me telling Bernice about the lambs, and they wouldn’t give me any peace until I brought them over here.”
The boys had found the lambs. They were standing outside the pen, poking their fingers through the mesh, giggling as the lambs tried to suckle them.
This development could be in my favor, Rose thought. But she couldn’t count on it. Bull was still goi
ng to be upset, maybe more so than ever, now that his sons had been allowed to see the lambs.
“Would you like to give the lambs their bottles?” she asked the boys.
“You bet!” they chorused.
Rose got the four bottles out of the trailer, gave one of them to each of the boys, and let them into the pen. The hungry lambs crowded around them, almost pushing them over. “Now, be careful,” Rose said, showing them what to do. “You have to make sure the lamb’s head is up, the way it would be if it was drinking milk from its mother. After you’ve fed the first two, I’ll give you the other bottles.”
The boys laughed with delight as the lambs drank from the bottles. Watching them, Jasper shook his head. “Now we’ve done it, Rose,” he said. “I’ll never hear the end of this.”
Rose gave him a grin. “Come on, let’s get these chickens in the coop. I’ll sprinkle some grain on the ground so they’ll feel at home.”
Twenty minutes later, the visit ended with the lambs fed, the chickens in their coop, and everyone at least on friendly terms. But as Jasper drove away with the boys, Rose had to ask herself one question. Had she won a small victory, or simply escalated the war?
She wouldn’t know the answer to that question until Bull showed up at her door.
* * *
The next morning, while she was feeding the chickens and checking for eggs, Bull drove up in his truck. She came out of the coop to see him swinging through the gate.
She closed the door behind her, then turned to face him. “I’ve been expecting you, Bull,” she said.
“I can imagine.” His expression was dark, his manner coldly restrained. “You could have asked me before you decided to raise sheep.” Hatred punctuated the last word.
“I didn’t know I needed your permission,” Rose said. “According to our contract, I can raise anything on my land.”
“Blast it, I’m not talking about permission,” he said. “I’m talking about common sense. If you’d asked me, I’d have told you that sheep are a sure way to make enemies—right when you need to make friends.”
“I don’t need friends as much as I need money. I helped the Ortegas raise sheep in Mexico. I know how to take care of them. You’ve been good to me, Bull, and I’m grateful. But sooner or later I have to strike out on my own. I hope Jasper isn’t in trouble for bringing the boys over.”
His mouth tightened. “Jasper’s fine. But all my sons can talk about are those damned sheep of yours.”
“So what now?” Rose asked.
“I’ve already come up with a solution. There’s a farmer in the next county who’s willing to take your lambs and raise them with his on private, fenced land. I’ve already called him. As long as they’re healthy, he’ll even pick them up and repay what you paid for them. You can’t get a better deal than that.”
“And then what?”
“We can work out some other way for you to have an income—something we can both live with.”
Bull was trying to be fair, Rose told herself. But he was doing it again—taking over her life. The lambs were hers. She had every right to keep and raise them. And, so help her, that was what she intended to do.
“Sorry, Bull, no deal,” she said. “I’m keeping the lambs.”
His expression hardened. “Fine. Do what you want. But those lambs won’t always be little. The first one that wanders off your property is going to become target practice.”
Rose stifled a gasp. “You’re saying you’d shoot them?”
“I’m not talking about me.”
Without another word, Bull turned away, strode to his truck, and climbed inside. Frozen in shock, Rose watched him drive off. The lines had been drawn, firm and clear. But what had Bull meant? Would someone really shoot her precious sheep?
Never mind, it was just an empty threat, Rose told herself. And right now she had work to do.
Finding a rake, she stepped into the lamb pen and began raking the droppings out of the scattered bedding straw. She glanced up, her eye catching a movement in the willows on the far side of the creek. For a moment she stood still, watching, then went back to work. It had been nothing, she told herself. Only a bird or animal, or maybe the wind. But it was hard to believe she wasn’t being spied on.
* * *
Ferg Prescott sat on the front porch, sipping a bourbon and enjoying the spring sunshine. He’d felt a growing sense of contentment now that Garn was gone. No more listening to that annoying nasal whine. No more stolen cattle. No more stealing time with Bonnie. And no more frustration over a son who wouldn’t lift a finger to meet his father’s expectations.
Garn would get along fine, wherever he was. The boy had all the instincts of a bottom-feeder. For all Ferg knew, he could be president of the friggin’ United States one day. But Garn’s welfare was no longer his concern, and Ferg was damned glad of it.
Last night he’d enjoyed a rip-roaring time in Bonnie’s bed. It had been an easy decision, not mentioning her part in the cattle theft. The woman was a survivor, doing her best to make a few extra dollars. Why punish her for that? And why spoil a relationship that worked so well for him?
The only thing that still troubled him, like a sharp stone in his boot, was the way Bull Tyler had bested him on sewing up that creek property. Putting it in the Landro woman’s name, with ironclad conditions attached, had been a smart move. As long as Bull controlled Rose, he controlled the property. And there was no way Ferg could get his hands on it.
Ferg had been keeping a close eye on the place. One of his new hires, a homely eighteen-year-old named Reuben Potter, had a talent for sneaking around without being noticed. Ferg had assigned him to watch the creek property and report back on everything he saw and heard there.
Thanks to Reuben, Ferg knew about the trailer on the property. He knew about Rose’s garden and the chicken coop. He even knew about the four lambs she’d brought home and set up in a pen. And now, here was Reuben, coming around the corner of the house with that expectant look on his face that told Ferg he’d learned something new.
Ferg got up, gave him a nod, and went into the house. It wouldn’t do to have a hired hand sitting on the porch with him, like a buddy. As was customary, he would see Reuben in his office.
Ferg sat down at his desk and waited. Reuben usually gave him a few minutes before wandering in. By the time he showed up, Ferg was getting impatient.
“Well?” he demanded, as Reuben stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.
Reuben cleared his throat. “It looks like Rose and Bull Tyler had an argument over the lambs. Bull wanted her to get rid of ’em. He’d even found somebody to take ’em off her hands. But Rose said she wouldn’t let ’em go. Bull was pretty mad. I even heard him say that if any of those sheep left her property, they’d be shot.”
“You don’t say . . .” Ferg leaned back in his leather chair. “Anything else?”
Reuben shook his head. “After that, Bull drove off, and Rose went to work cleaning the lamb pen. I figured that was a good time to go.”
“Very interesting,” Ferg said. “Thanks for the update. You can get back to your regular work, but keep your eyes and ears open.”
“I will. Thanks, Mr. Prescott.” Reuben’s slithery way of walking carried him out of the office. Seconds later, Ferg heard the front door open and close.
“Interesting,” he said aloud, thinking of what he could do with what he’d learned. Maybe he couldn’t get his hands on the property. But what if there was a way to widen the breach between Bull and Rose? If the two were to become bitter enemies, that might leave an opening for him to step in and befriend her. Who knew where that might lead?
With his mind made up, Ferg reached for the phone and punched in the number for the Blue Coyote Bar in Blanco Springs. “I’d like to leave a message,” he said when the bartender answered. “Whenever Deke Triplehorn shows up, tell him Mr. Prescott wants to talk to him.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TANNER WAS BACK IN TEXAS,
WORKING FOR THE TSCRA. HIS FIRST assignment had taken him to a ranch outside Rock Springs, where he’d caught the pair of bungling teenage cattle rustlers within a couple of days, recovered the calves they’d stolen, and turned the boys over to the juvenile court system.
He’d hoped Clive would be impressed enough to assign him something more challenging, but he was in for a surprise when he walked into the TSCRA regional headquarters the next day.
“Come into my office.” Clive Barlow was stocky and middle-aged, with horn-rimmed glasses and wispy gray hair. His exploits over his years as a special ranger had become the stuff of legend.
“Have a seat.” Clive took the chair behind his desk. “I’ve got a proposition for you, McCade. Hear me out. Then you can say yes or no.”
Tanner took a chair and waited while Clive cleared a space on his cluttered desk. “Over the past few months, there’ve been growing reports of cattle rustlers hiding stock in the canyons below the caprock. My supervisors have decided to open a post in Blanco Springs to deal with them. Since you’re one of the few rangers who’s familiar with the area, and the people, we’d like to put you in charge.”
“You’re sure?” Tanner was momentarily stunned. “But I’m just barely familiar with the area. I’ve only been on the job a few months, and most of that was training. Hell, I’m not even a Texan.”
“Let’s just say we’ve checked out your background, and we think you’ve got what it takes to grow into the job. You’ve gotten to know the big ranches and the important people. That’s a good start. And before you make up your mind, I don’t suppose it would hurt to mention that it comes with a nice raise in salary.”
Tanner thought of the extra cash he could send his brother’s family. The money would help. But there were other things to consider. “Like you say, I can at least hear you out,” he said.
“We’ve had a realtor looking for the right place to set up,” Clive said. “She’s found us a two-bedroom house outside Blanco Springs. You’d stay there, mostly with another ranger on rotation. We’d set up your office with connections to our dispatcher and everything else you’d need. There’s a stable out back with a tack room and space for a couple of horses. We’d furnish those, along with a truck and horse trailer.” Clive chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised, McCade. A lot of planning’s gone into this. That includes finding the right man for the job. However, there is a catch. It’s not likely to be permanent. Once the rustlers are cleaned out, you’ll be shut down and transferred.”
