Texas Tall (The Tylers of Texas 3)

Sky settled himself in the leather armchair by the fireplace, a safe distance from the sofa, where Will had invited Lauren to sit. He knew exactly what was on Will’s mind. The surprise was that his half brother had waited this long to bring it up.

Sky had shown Lauren the disputed land early on and told her what little he knew about it. He understood how much Will wanted that small parcel back where it belonged. But the decision to sell, or not to sell, would be Lauren’s, and he would support her choice. Knowing what was coming, he’d already made that clear to her. Right now, he was nothing more than an interested observer.

“Something to drink?” Will was still on his feet. “A beer? Some wine?”

“No, thank you,” Lauren declined, as did Sky.

Will lowered his tall frame to the edge of the sofa, looking ill at ease as he turned toward Lauren. “Something tells me you already know what I want to talk to you about,” he said.

“Yes,

and I’m familiar with the circumstances,” Lauren replied. Sky had to admire her quiet poise.

Will cleared his throat. “I offered Garn a fair price for that parcel of land when he was running for reelection. But he told me he’d promised his father not to sell it. I take it you aren’t bound by the same promise.”

“I don’t even remember my grandfather. I was a toddler when my parents divorced, and my mother took me back to Maryland. So, no. I’m not bound by anything,” Lauren said. “The syndicate owns the original ranch, including the land where the house was before it burned. But that little parcel wasn’t included. According to my dad’s lawyer, it’s mine now.” She gave Will a knowing smile. “But something tells me you’re already aware of that.”

Will shifted on the sofa. “Then let’s get right down to business,” he said. “I’m prepared to offer you the same price as I offered your father. I can give you the check today, and you can sign the deed over in town tomorrow.” He waited, the expectant silence broken only by the ticking clock, as Lauren took her time. At last she spoke.

“I don’t need your money, Will. As a U.S. congressman my father had excellent life insurance, as well as insurance on the house and my grandfather’s antique-car collection. I’m the sole beneficiary.”

An expression of cold astonishment flashed across Will’s face. Sky had nothing but respect for his secret half brother, but it tickled him to see Will put down so handily by a woman. My woman, he thought.

“I’ve never owned a piece of land before,” Lauren said. “I’m not saying I won’t sell it eventually. But I want to get to know it first—to explore it and learn more about its history. Maybe then—”

“You know that story about the hidden Spanish gold is nothing but bunk!” Will snapped.

“I know that my grandfather searched every inch of the land and never found it. But this isn’t about the gold.” Lauren gave Will a few seconds to stew over what she’d said. “I don’t want to sell it yet, but here’s what I will do. I’ll free up the spring so your cattle will have water in the bigger canyon below. And when I sell it to you—if I sell it, which I won’t promise—the price will be exactly what my grandfather paid Bull for it. One dollar.”

Right then, Sky would have given anything for a camera to photograph Will’s face. He looked as if he’d been smacked with a wet fish. But it didn’t take long for Will to recover.

“You can stop grinning now, Sky,” he growled. “You’re the one who’ll be living with this woman. Think about that!” Rising, he extended his hand to Lauren. He’d gained some concessions, but he still didn’t look happy. “Given a choice, I’d rather pay the money and buy that land now,” he said. “I’ll try to be patient. But my father won’t rest easy in his grave till this is settled.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lauren said. “I’m sorry I never knew your father. From what I’ve heard about him, he must’ve been quite a man.”

“He was,” Will said. “He was more than a man. He was a force.”

He still is. Sky kept his silence. But he knew Lauren had meant those words for him, as well as for Will.

* * *

Stella’s feet, in their high-heeled red cowgirl boots, throbbed after a night of tending bar in the Blue Coyote. When Will Tyler had fired a bullet through Nicky’s innocent heart, she’d not only lost a brother, she’d lost a damned good bartender. She would mourn him for a long time to come. But for now, she’d channeled her grief into rage. Tyler would pay for what he’d done. Before she was finished with them, his whole family would pay.

So far, she’d left his punishment to Abner and the law. But she couldn’t depend on the legal system to give her justice, let alone vengeance. She could always use her Dallas connection to call in a hit on the man. But that would be expensive. It would also be too fast and too easy to give her the satisfaction she craved. She wanted to see Will Tyler squirm. She wanted to see him suffer.

Stella had planned to close the Blue Coyote at ten, as she usually did on Sunday nights, but the sad-eyed cowboy in the corner booth, nursing his can of Dos Equis beer, showed no inclination to leave.

She might have given him a gentle nudge out the door, but Stella had recognized the lanky young man. She’d seen him come in a few times with the crew from the Rimrock. Last spring, early on, he’d given Lute Fletcher a few rides to town in his old rust bucket of a pickup. The kid didn’t look like much, but it wouldn’t hurt to learn more about him.

What was his name? She searched her memory and found it. Ralph, that’s what one of the men had called him. She’d make an effort to remember and use it.

Slipping an old Hank Williams CD in the boom box, she turned the volume down low. Then she popped the tab on a fresh beer, sidled over to the booth, and took the seat across from him.

“That beer of yours must be getting stale, Ralph,” she said, smiling. “Here, have a cold one on the house.”

“Thanks.” He accepted the can with a shy smile. He looked young, barely twenty-one, Stella guessed. His eyes were light brown, and his mud-colored hair wanted cutting. The hand that clasped the beer can was nicked and calloused, the fingernails streaked with embedded dirt.

“You look sadder than a hound dog pup, cowboy,” she said in her folksiest manner. “If there’s anything you need to get off your chest, I’m a good listener.”