Texas Tough (The Tylers of Texas 2)

Prescott stood, fished a five-dollar bill out of his wallet, and laid it under his half-empty coffee cup. His skin crawled as he walked out of the diner, feeling as if every eye in the place was fixed on his back. By the time he made it into his car, his knees were threatening to collapse. The Cadillac was sweltering inside, the steering wheel hot enough to burn his hands. Sweating rivulets, he switched the AC on high and pulled out of the parking lot.

He was approaching the turnoff to Blanco Springs when he thought of Josh Hardesty. The man might not have enough influence to save Stella’s brother. But if the governor’s stepson had a reason to come around, Stella might see it as a sign that Prescott was doing something to help her. Who knew? Maybe Hardesty would be interested enough to look into the case and actually do something.

It was his best chance. Maybe his only chance. But reeling in Hardesty would depend on using Lauren as bait. And so far she’d refused to go out with the man again.

He had twenty-four hours—a little less by now—before Stella brought down his world. No doubt she could do it. All it would take was a whisper in the right person’s ear.

His foot stomped the gas pedal. The white Cadillac shot down the road toward home. He could only pray that Lauren would be there and that she would listen to him.

Lauren lifted the saddle off Storm Cloud’s back and hung the bridle next to the stall. She took a towel and rubbed down the big gelding, lingering on the spots that made him quiver with pleasure. Following Sky’s advice, she’d made it a habit to work with the horse every day, riding him, grooming him, or just stopping by the stable to give him a treat. With time and patience, Storm Cloud had begun to trust her. On this afternoon’s short ride, he’d performed beautifully.

“Good boy,” she murmured, stroking the satiny neck. “You were broken. So was I. But we’re both getting better.”

What would she do about him when she moved to town? If she could find a place to keep him, she might be able to buy him from the syndicate. Meanwhile she could at least visit him and ride him as often as possible.

But the horse wasn’t Lauren’s only concern. She had spent the morning and the early part of the afternoon updating the books in the syndicate office. The talk there, among the manager and the hands who wandered in and o

ut, had been about the fire danger.

As she made the fifteen-minute trek from the stable to the house, Lauren remembered the conversation she’d overheard between the sharp, young ranch manager and an old cowboy who’d worked for the Prescott family most of his life.

“I wouldn’t worry if I were you,” the manager had said. “The ground is cleared around the buildings, the water tanks are full, and the air drop service is just a phone call away. Being prepared can make all the difference.”

“I can tell you ain’t never been in a range fire,” the old man had drawled. “When them flames come at you, hot enough to turn your bones to cinders, it’s like you stumbled into hell, an’ you’re starin’ right down the devil’s throat.”

Right down the devil’s throat. The words echoed in Lauren’s head as she entered the house through the kitchen door. The ninety-year-old Prescott family home was made of wood and isolated by distance from the newer buildings and pens used by the syndicate. If a fire came close enough, it would go up like a torch, along with the nearby sheds and the garage that housed her grandfather’s priceless collection of antique cars. Would the ranch employees even bother protecting the old home? Why should they?

She was hungry after working most of the day, and the cook wouldn’t be in till dinnertime. Finding some leftover chicken in the fridge, she made a sandwich, poured some iced tea, and sat down at the table. She was just finishing her late lunch when her father walked in from the front of the house. The glass in his hand was half-filled with bourbon.

When had Garn Prescott begun to look so old and tired? Was it just that she hadn’t noticed, or had some new disaster struck him?

“Are you hungry, Dad?” she asked, trying to be kind. “Can I fix you something?”

“No to both. I had lunch with the League of Women Voters.” He sank onto a chair with a weary sigh. “But I do need a favor from my little girl.”

She was hardly his little girl. But he looked so downtrodden that Lauren couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. “Tell me,” she said.

He raised the glass and drained the bourbon in two gulps. His pale eyes were bloodshot. “The details don’t matter,” he said. “All you need to know is, I’ve gotten myself into a tight spot and I’m going to need some help getting out of it. One person who might put in a word for me is Josh Hardesty. But he’s going to need some persuasion. If you’d care to—”

“Stop right there.” Lauren had gone cold. He was up to his old tricks again, peddling her like a pimp to men whose money and influence could help his cause. “Whatever you need, I don’t want any part of it—especially if it involves Josh Hardesty.”

“Lauren, I need his help or I’m finished in politics! If you’d only listen to reason—”

“No, you listen.” Lauren rose. “The first—and last—time I went out with that man, he made it clear what he expected in return for the check he wrote you. Sorry, but I’m not for sale. I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Aren’t you?” His voice dripped contempt. “You’ll spread your legs for a half-breed bastard who’ll only drag you down. Why not for a man with enough money and prestige to save your father from ruin? Where’s your family loyalty?”

Lauren felt the blood drain from her face. She braced a steadying hand against the table while she found her voice. “You’re drunk. If you weren’t I’d never forgive you for what you just said.”

He studied her with slitted eyes. “I may be drunk, but I know when I’m right. Why him, Lauren? Why a fatherless, half-Comanche piece of trash who stinks of horses and couldn’t afford to keep you in a tin shack?”

“Because I love him!”

The words burst out, catching Lauren by surprise. But as soon as she spoke them, she knew they were true. She loved Sky Fletcher. She would follow him anywhere—and if getting him back meant crawling to him on her hands and knees, she would do it in a heartbeat.

“You’re a fool,” he said. “Just like your mother.”

Lauren’s chin went up, her spine stiffened. “My mother left you,” she said. “And as soon as I can find a place of my own, I plan to do the same thing.”