Texas Tough (The Tylers of Texas 2)

“Sure it was. If you believe that, I’ve got a piece of oceanfront property in Arizona to sell you.” Jasper spat over the porch rail. “An’ now Abner Sweeney’s the sheriff. Hellfire, Abner’s got about as much sense as a jackrabbit. Tag, here, would make a better lawman than that fool, wouldn’t you, boy?” He scratched the dog’s ears. “Say, did you ever find that shotgun of mine?”

“The one that was missing after your accident?”

“Yeah. Damn good bird gun. Hate to lose it.”

“Marie said her brother took it. Wherever he is, he’s probably got it with him.”

“Well, I hope the dirty snake shoots his foot off with it. If you find him, I want it back.” Pushing out of the rocker, Jasper stood. “Reckon I’ll turn in now. It’s been a long day. Wake me in the mornin’. I’ll ride out with you in the pickup.”

“Feel free to sleep in if you’re tired. We don’t have to go tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine.” He hobbled across the porch, his gait still unsteady. The accident—or whatever it was—had taken its toll on the old cowboy. There was no guarantee he’d ever be as strong as before.

After Jasper had gone inside, Sky sat in the darkness, listening to the night—the drone of crickets in the dry grass, the mellow co-hoo of a burrowing owl, the muted whinny of a horse in the paddock. Sky’s ears and mind processed the sound. No alarm there, only restlessness.

Over the past few days, he’d spent most of his spare time working with Storm Cloud. The black gelding was making good progress—especially since Sky had discovered the sore mouth that was causing him to fight the bit. The change to a snaffle bit seemed to be helping. But if Lauren wasn’t coming back to work with her horse, Sky couldn’t justify the time and expense of keeping him here.

The situation had become awkward. If Lauren wanted to break off their relationship, that was her choice. But something would need to be done about returning her horse. Much as Sky disliked involving Beau, having him contact Lauren would be the simplest solution. A phone call or e-mail should be enough to set things up. If she was busy, or didn’t want to come over, she could always send a ranch hand with a trailer.

Leaning farther back in the chair, he propped his boots on the porch railing. The dog nudged his hand, wanting to be petted. Sky stroked the tangled fur, taking a moment to loosen a cockle burr and toss it off the porch. He and Lauren had been good together. But that was the way of most good things. They tended not to last. Damned shame, though, when he thought of all the things he’d wanted—and still wanted—to do with that leggy, red-haired hellion in bed.

Muttering a curse, he stood and stretched his saddle-sore muscles. An evening breeze had sprung up, smelling of dust and promising another blast furnace day tomorrow. He would plan to start with the colts at first light, in the larger of the two round pens. If things went well, he could get in a few hours of training before he took Jasper out in the pickup.

His job was vital to the ranch’s survival. This was no time to let any distraction interfere with his work—not Marie and her problems, not the questions about his father, and not even Lauren.

Especially Lauren.

Garn Prescott propped his bare back against the pillows and clicked the remote. The flat-screen TV at the foot of the bed flashed on, lighting up the dark interior of the motel room.

“Honey, do you have to turn that thing on now?” Stella ran a teasing hand up his inner thigh. Lord, the woman was insatiable. Not that he was complaining. She knew every trick in the book, and enough others to write a book of her own. They’d driven into Lubbock for dinner and spent the past two hours in bed, having the kind of sex that boggled Prescott’s imagination. It was a good thing he’d gulped down some Viagra before they got started. He’d needed it.

“This won’t take long,” he said. “I just want to make sure the station is running my new campaign ad.”

Prescott had paid top dollar to have the ad run just before the nine o’clock news. Bankrolled by Stella, the ad had been done by a slick agency with background music, a professional script, and a combination of lighting and makeup that made him look ten years younger.

He sighed with satisfaction as the ad came on. It was already making a difference in the polls, and contributions were flowing, if not exactly gushing, into his war chest. He’d lost track of how much Stella had given him, but it had to be coming up on sixty or seventy thousand dollars. How a woman who ran a grungy little bar in a backwater town could spare so much money was a question Prescott didn’t ask. His instincts told him he was better off not knowing.

Stella took the remote out of his hand and switched off the TV. “It’s not like you have to watch the whole thing,” she said. “Come here, honey. Maybe next time we can spend the whole night together. But for now we both have places to be. One more round and it’s bye-bye time.”

Her han

d slid higher, fingers stroking with a skill that drove him wild. Prescott would never have guessed he had it in him but, wonder of wonders, the Viagra was still working.

Balancing the tray above her head, Marie made her way through the crowd. With the Texas rodeo finals on TV, the bar was packed. And Stella had chosen tonight, of all nights, to be gone.

Squeezing past a table, Marie felt a pinch on her bottom. Turning, she fixed the cowboy with a chilling glare. As the seconds passed, his grin faded and his bold gaze dropped. “Sorry,” he muttered. Marie moved on. She knew how to handle jerks like that cowboy. Once they got a look at her scarred face, they always backed off.

She’d been twenty when her husband Eddie had come home nasty drunk, kicked her across the floor, and slashed her face with a knife from the kitchen. A neighbor had driven her to the hospital, where she’d lost the baby she was carrying. Probably just as well. She would never have been a candidate for Mother of the Year.

A couple of her brothers had gone after Eddie, knocked out his front teeth, busted his right hand, and threatened worse if he ever came near their sister again. After the divorce she’d kept her married name—Marie Johnson—because in Oklahoma there were advantages to not being known as a Fletcher. She’d kept the scar, too, though not by choice. The operation to fix her face would cost thousands of dollars—more money than Marie could ever earn at the shitty jobs she was forced to take.

But if things went as planned, all that was about to change.

Behind the bar, Stella’s brother, Nick, was filling orders as fast as Marie could pick them up. “Where’s Stella?” she asked as she stacked a fresh tray.

Nick shrugged, his bland expression unchanged. Despite his shaved head and biker tattoos there was an air of shyness about the man. Early on Marie had tried flirting with him just to see what would happen. But she’d gotten nowhere. Maybe he’d been put off by the scar, or maybe he just wasn’t interested in women.

Stella doted on her younger brother. He seemed to be the one person in the world she cared about. Marie could understand that. She’d felt much the same way about Lute. That was why her revenge would be so fitting and why carrying it out would be so sweet. She would have that bitch Stella right where she wanted her.