Texas Free

by Janet Dailey

  “But not tonight. It’s much too sad. It’s just that making enchiladas brought the memories back, that’s all.” Rose forced herself to eat. Why couldn’t she be chatty and charming, hiding her feelings like some women could? Tonight, it was all she could do to smile.

  “Sorry to be so gloomy,” she said. “I’m not good at pretending. Didn’t you say we needed to talk?”

  “I did. But it can wait.”

  “If you’re planning to tell me we’re just having a little fun before you leave again, I already got the message.”

  “That’s not what I was planning to tell you, Rose.” He’d cleaned his plate. “Will you listen to me and try not to read anything into what I say until I’ve finished?”

  “All right.” She put down her fork and put her hands in her lap. “Talk.”

  He gave a slight shake of his head. “Damn it, woman, you’re not making this easy. When I left you before, I thought it was for good. I had feelings for you, but I knew I couldn’t stay, and I didn’t want to hurt you.

  “My brother needed me on the ranch, so I went to Wyoming for two weeks. I thought about you every day—in fact, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. And driving back to Texas, you were with me all the way. Even so, I tried to keep my distance. I was still getting over the loss of my wife and son—and I didn’t want to be unfair to you. I made every excuse in the book, Rose. But then my boss told me I was being sent back here, and I knew I had to see you.”

  “Against your better judgment.”

  “Don’t, Rose.” He reached across the table and captured her hand. “The moment I saw you this morning, and then held you in my arms while you cried, I knew I couldn’t just walk away again. I know I can’t be here forever, and I can’t plan ahead. But I want to follow this path and see where it leads us. Maybe it’ll be somewhere good, for us both. All right?”

  His fingers tightened around hers. Tears welled in Rose’s eyes. “All right,” she whispered. “Wherever it leads. And if it doesn’t work out—”

  “We’ll deal with that only when we have to.” He rose from his place, walked around the table, and drew her to her feet for a long, deep kiss. “I want to know you, Rose,” he murmured. “I want to know everything about you—your body, your life, the thoughts in your head . . . and I’m hoping it will take a long, long time.”

  He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed for a night of loving and snuggling and whispered conversations under the covers, and then more loving until Rose ached with the need to keep him and make him hers. She knew it was too much to ask. There were so many dangers, so many uncertainties. For now, all she could do was hold on to every moment and hope it would last.

  * * *

  Tanner replaced a file in the stack on his desk, rubbed his eyes, and refilled his coffee cup. After three days on the job, he had plenty to do at his new post. His first case and his first rotating partner had yet to be assigned, but the hours of the day were spent reading through the files and memorizing the aerial maps of the canyons. When he could get away, he would take the truck and drive the back roads, visiting each small ranch, introducing himself to the owners, and taking a look at the cattle. Maybe one of these times Rose would enjoy going with him—surely that would be allowed. The nights in her bed—which he made sure to leave before dawn—had restored him in body and spirit. But they needed time just to be together, relaxing and talking.

  There’d been no more sign of Rose’s nighttime intruder. But Tanner could tell she was nervous, and he was worried for her. Neither of them would rest easy until they knew who’d killed her lambs.

  But it wasn’t just the lambs. “I get the feeling I’m being watched,” she’d told him the night before. “I never see anybody. It’s just this creepy feeling I get, that I’m not alone. What if it’s somebody from the cartel? What if they’ve tracked me down? I’ve started taking my gun when I go outside. But even that doesn’t seem to make a difference.”

  Tanner knew better than to dismiss Rose’s fears. She was tough enough to have shot and killed two men in self-defense. Her survival instincts were razor sharp. If she said somebody was watching her, she was more than likely right.

  He’d urged her to move to the duplex on the Rimrock, as Bull had invited her to do. Rose had refused. “I’d never forgive myself if I came back to find the chickens butchered and the trailer burned,” she said. “This is my land, my home. I’m staying put.”

  Tanner knew enough about the cartel to be concerned. But he was more suspicious of Ferg Prescott. He’d found fresh boot prints among the willows on the far side of the creek. It would be like Ferg to have somebody spying on Rose, or even to have her lambs killed. But he had yet to find a shred of evidence.

  Between files, he checked his watch. It was after six, too early to show up at Rose’s but time for a break. He’d drunk the last beer in the fridge yesterday. A shopping trip was in order, but he could do that tomorrow. Right now, a cold one at the Blue Coyote sounded like a good idea.

  The parking lot of the town’s only saloon was crowded at this hour with people getting off work. Inside, an old Hank Williams song was blaring from the speakers on the wall. The booths and tables were almost full. The only available seat Tanner could see was a stool at the bar. He took it and ordered a Corona.

  He paid with a five. The bartender shoved his change across the bar. Before Tanner could pick up the coins, the man on his right, who looked like a military veteran, an eagle tattoo on his shaved head, turned on the stool, swung his forearm to one side, and swept the coins onto the floor.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, speaking with a slight lisp.

  “Accidents happen.” Tanner wasn’t going to start an argument over less than a dollar, and he wasn’t about to get down on his knees and pick up the coins off the crowded, dirty floor.

  “Aren’t you going to pick them up?” The stranger, who appeared drunk, reached into his pocket. “Here, man, I’ll pay you back.”

  “Keep your money. It’s fine,” Tanner said.

  “What’s the matter, man, isn’t my money good enough for you? Okay, fine then, pick up yours.”

  Tanner usually knew how to handle himself in a brawl. But he was unprepared for the sudden chop of a hand to his neck and the slam of an iron fist to his groin. With a gasp of surprise and pain, he crumpled and dropped to the floor. Anger flooded his body as he struggled to rise. Then he noticed the stranger’s boots—weathered brown military boots, liberally spattered with blood. The blood appeared to have been wiped off, but the vivid stains had soaked into the leather. Those stains couldn’t have been more than a few days old.

  By the time Tanner recovered and struggled to his feet, the stranger had gotten up and left. But that was all right, he told himself. He had seen what he’d needed to see.

  The bartender was watching him, a worried look on his young face. “You all right, man?” he asked.

  “I’ll be fine.” Tanner fished two twenty-dollar bills out of his wallet. He held one toward the bartender. “Can you tell me the name of that man with the tattoo on his head?”

  “Sure. His name’s Deke Triplehorn. He hangs out here a lot.”

  “Thanks.” Tanner handed him one bill and held out the other one. “And do you know who he works for?”

  The bartender hesitated. “I don’t know for sure. He’s kind of like a freelancer. But I know he gets phone calls here from Ferg Prescott.”

  “Thanks. You just made my day.” Tanner handed over the other bill and left the bar. He made it out to the parking lot in time to catch up with Triplehorn, who was climbing into his Jeep. He didn’t appear to be armed, but neither was Tanner.

  “What the hell do you want now,” the man growled. “If it’s a fight, bring it on.”

  “No fight. Just a message for your boss, Ferg Prescott. Tell him I’m onto you, and you’re through doing his dirty work. If I hear of you making more trouble, both you and he are going to jail.”

  Triplehorn didn’t reply, but
his expression went rigid. “You don’t scare me, Mister. I got a medal for gunning down twenty-six Viet Cong in ’Nam. The next time I catch you alone, you might not be as lucky as you were the last time.”

  The words rocked Tanner, but he knew better than to show it. It made perfect sense that Triplehorn had been the one to shoot him from the escarpment that day in the desert. But if the man had been acting on orders from Ferg, the implications were staggering.

  Triplehorn got into his Jeep and roared out of the parking lot. Tanner gave him a head start, then drove off the way the Jeep was headed. If the vet was going to the Prescott Ranch, there was no need to hurry. If not, it didn’t matter. Triplehorn was small potatoes. Tanner’s business was with the man’s boss.

  He was mad as hell, but he kept his pickup below the speed limit. There was little doubt in his mind that Triplehorn had been sent to kill Rose’s lambs. Maybe the bastard had been paid to spy on Rose, too, or at least somebody had. As for the shot that had nearly killed him that day in the canyon . . . but that would have to wait until he had proof.

  For now, he knew better than to think he could pin anything on Ferg legally. Ferg was too slippery for that. But if he could put some fear into the Prescott boss, at least it might stop him from harassing Rose.

  Ferg wouldn’t be glad to see him, Tanner knew. Twice he’d been the bearer of bad news—the first time after Ferg had faked the theft of his cattle, and the second time when Ferg’s own son had been caught rustling the family’s prime steers. His .38 pistol and gun belt were under the seat of the truck. He might be smart to strap them on, in case anybody had ideas about taking him by surprise.

  It was twilight by the time he reached the Prescott Ranch. Acting on a hunch, Tanner parked next to the barn, strapped on the gun belt, and, keeping to the shadows, made his way toward the house.

  His hunch paid off. Triplehorn’s Jeep was parked at the foot of the front steps. Tanner was keeping low, behind the shrubbery, when the front door opened. Triplehorn, clearly in a sour mood, came outside, stomped down the steps, and roared away in his Jeep.

  Tanner gave him a few minutes, then walked into the open.

  Ferg’s office was dark, but Tanner could see light and movement in the windows of the dining room. With luck he’d caught Ferg at dinner. He could only hope his visit would give the bastard indigestion.

  His anger mounted as he climbed the front steps, crossed the porch, and rang the front doorbell. When the aging cook opened the door, Tanner pushed past him without a word and strode into the dining room, with its ghastly array of mounted trophies around the walls.

  Ferg was about to cut into a thick rib eye steak. His jaw dropped as Tanner walked in to face him across the table, but he recovered swiftly, arranging his features into a crocodile smile.

  “I don’t recall inviting you to dinner, McCade. Sorry I can’t share this steak with you. I trust you’ll forgive me if I eat it before it gets cold.”

  He cut himself a bite. “Was there something you wanted?”

  “Only to tell you that the next time you send Deke Triplehorn to do your dirty work, even if it’s just killing lambs, it’s going to be on you.”

  “Triplehorn?” Ferg feigned ignorance. “I’d remember that name. But I’ve never met the man.”

  “That’s not what I heard at the Blue Coyote. And unless I need glasses, I saw him leaving here a few minutes ago.”

  Ferg’s gaze flickered to the pistol at Tanner’s hip. “You can’t prove a damned thing, McCade. Hell, you’re not even a lawman. You’re a TSCRA ranger, a friggin’ cowcatcher. So get out of here and let me finish my dinner.”

  “Not until I tell you that if you or your goons ever go near Rose again, and that includes spying on her . . .”

  A smile slid across Ferg’s face. “So it’s you. I heard the little lady had a gentleman caller. Congratulations. She’s a nice piece of ass—in the dark, at least.”

  Tanner battled the urge to hurl himself across the table and smash the man’s ugly face. “So you are spying on her!”

  Ferg laughed. “That’s my right, to keep an eye on the neighbors as long as I don’t go on their property. The young man I’ve assigned to the job has orders not to disturb her. So it’s perfectly legal, and there’s nothing—”

  He broke off as the front door burst open. A gangly young man with a big nose and a bumper crop of pimples burst in, wild-eyed and out of breath.

  “Something’s up!” he gasped. “I saw two men, sneaking around her trailer! I couldn’t see their faces in the dark, but I could hear them talking. They were talking Mexican!”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE CHICKENS WERE STIRRING IN THEIR COOP, CLUCKING, SQUAWKING, and ruffling their feathers. Rose, who had a long history with chickens, knew the signs. Something was spooking them.

  It was most likely a coyote nosing around, she thought. Or maybe a weasel, or even an owl. The coop had been built to keep out predators, but it wouldn’t hurt to chase the creature away, in the hope that it wouldn’t come back.

  But what if the intruder wasn’t an animal?

  She rose from her seat on the step of the trailer and went inside, locking the door behind her. Her loaded gun was under the pillow, where she kept it. Her hand closed around the weapon’s cold, reassuring weight. It was too bad the batteries had burned out on her flashlight. She could have used it now. But she wasn’t about to cower inside the trailer and leave her chickens unprotected. Thumbing back the pistol’s hammer, she opened the door of the trailer and stepped outside again.

  It was early yet. She’d been expecting Tanner, but sometimes he didn’t show up until nine or ten. And she understood that due to the demands of his job, he might not come at all. When he did come, it was always in his truck. There was no truck tonight.

  The darkness was silent except for the babbling flow of the creek and the fussing of the chickens. There was no visible sign of danger. But Rose could feel the familiar prickling on the back of her neck that told her something wasn’t right.

  Her gaze probed the deep shadows on the far side of the creek. There was no movement. No sound, not even the wind.

  She walked over to the coop. Behind the wire mesh, the chickens were restless and alert. “What is it?” she whispered to them. “What are you trying to tell me? I know you’re worried, but don’t be scared. I’ll protect you.”

  “Rosa.”

  Her whispered Mexican name sent a chill up her spine. Had the cartel tracked her down?

  “Rosa. No tengas miedo. Estamos aquí.”

  She turned as two men stepped out of the trees. They were strangers—but only for an instant. Recognizing them, Rose lowered her gun and ran to embrace the pair who’d been like her older brothers back in Río Seco.

  She hadn’t seen Ramón’s nephews, Raul and Joaquin, for more than three years. She’d long since begun to believe they were dead. But here they were, and she had a world of questions to ask them.

  “Where have you been? How did you find me?” She spoke with them in Spanish, which came as naturally to her as her mother tongue.

  “That’s a very long story.” Joaquin was the better looking and more talkative of the brothers. “Invite us into your little home, and we will tell it to you.”

  Overjoyed to see them again, Rose led the two men inside her trailer, opened the last two bottles of Tecate in her miniature fridge, and made them tuna sandwiches, which they wolfed down, telling her their story between bites.

  “Last winter, we were working on that big sheep ranch outside Sabinas when the Cabreras came by,” Raul said.

  “The cartel?” Even the name sent a chill through Rose’s body.

  “They were looking for runners who knew the border and how to cross. They promised good money and that our family would be safe if we went to work for them.”

  Rose suppressed a shudder. She didn’t like what she was hearing. But these two men were all that was left of the Mexican family she’d loved. And surely they hadn’t
known what they were getting into. How could she presume to judge them?

  “Your family was already dead,” she said. “When the Cabreras came to Río Seco, they shot the people who stood up to them. Ramón and María died against a wall, along with many of the young men. Only the younger women were spared. I don’t have to tell you why.”

  “We know, little sister.” Raul put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “When we learned the awful truth, we decided to leave the country. But you don’t just walk away from the Cabrera cartel.”

  “It took time and planning,” Joaquin said. “But we finally did it—crossed the river on foot and caught rides all the way here. Señor Bull Tyler helped us years ago, after our father died. We are hoping he will have work for us again.”

  “I can’t speak for Bull,” Rose said. “He’s a good man, but the laws are stricter now. I can take you to see him, but you’ll have to ask him yourselves.”

  Did they know that she’d killed Lucho Cabrera and that the cartel was after her? For now, she might be wise to keep that information to herself.

  “I understand how you knew where to find Bull,” she said. “But how did you know where to find me?”

  Joaquin smiled, showing his beautiful white teeth. “The neighbors in Río Seco told us you’d left and taken our father’s old car. Since it was Bull Tyler who brought you to our family, we guessed that you would go back to him.”

  “When we didn’t see the car on the Rimrock, we asked around,” Raul said. “Other Mexican workers on the ranches, some of them had seen you. Word spreads. They told us where you lived.”

  So it had been that easy. If Raul and Joaquin had been able to track her down, how difficult would it be for the cartel?

  Refugio Cabrera wouldn’t have known anything about Bull or where he lived, Rose reminded herself. All the same, she felt cold with fear.

  It came as a relief when bright headlights shining through the window of her trailer announced Tanner’s arrival. “My friend is here,” she said, and rushed outside.

  As he doused the headlights and climbed out of his truck, she flew into his arms. “Hold me,” she whispered.