Texas Tall (The Tylers of Texas 3)

The melancholy strains of “Your Cheatin’ Heart” drifted through the darkened bar. The young cowhand sipped the cold beer, maybe weighing the wisdom of sharing his troubles. After a long moment’s hesitation, he sighed. “It’s my wife, Vonda,” he said. “We had to get married this summer on account of she was in a family way. Mostly it’s okay, bein’ married. My boss, Will Tyler, let us move into one of the little family houses on the ranch. It’s nice enough, and the rent’s a lot cheaper than livin’ in town, but . . .”

He tipped the can to his lips, his Adam’s apple quivering as he swallowed. “It’s always about the damned money!” The words exploded out of him. “Will pays as good as most ranchers around here, and we got insurance for when the baby comes, thank God. But that ain’t enough for Vonda. She wants to move to town, where she can hang out with her friends. She wants fancy clothes and her own cell phone and her own car to cat around in. She wants a big-screen TV and all kinds of furniture and gadgets for the baby.”

He raked his hand through his unruly hair. “Lord, I work my ass off, but cowboyin’ don’t pay all that much. Tonight, when I tried to tell her how it was, Vonda threw me out. She says I’m not gettin’ any you-know-what till I can figure out a way for her to have what she wants.”

“How old is Vonda?” Stella asked.

“Sixteen. Just a kid. If I hadn’t married her when she got pregnant, her folks woulda thrown me in jail, her daddy bein’ sheriff and all. Even then, they threw her out and won’t have nothin’to do with us.”

Something clicked in Stella’s head. So this downtrodden cowboy was Abner’s son-in-law. Interesting. She gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m guessing you haven’t done any bartending.”

“Nope. But I’m right sorry about you losing your brother, Miss Stella. Damn shame what happened.” He brightened. “Say, maybe you could teach me bartendin’.”

“I’m afraid I need someone with experience.” Stella rose and smoothed out her tight denim skirt. “But if you’d like to earn a little extra money, I might could use some help around the place—cleaning up, fixing things, maybe running a few errands.”

“Heck, I can do all that stuff!” He was grinning now, as eager as a puppy. “Just let me know what you need.”

“I’ll think on it, Ralph. Check back with me the next time you’re in town. Right now, it’s time to finish your beer and go home to that little wife of yours. With luck, she’ll be feeling lonesome by now.”

As she closed the bar, Stella watched the taillights on the rattletrap truck fade toward the highway. Ralph might not be the sharpest tack in the barrel, but he was desperate for cash, eager to plea

se, and in the right place to be of use. Given time and a little coaching, he could turn out to be helpful.

How loyal to the Tylers was he? But that wouldn’t matter. Get him hooked on the money, get him to cross the line, and then threaten him with exposure. With a wife, and a baby on the way, the kid would do anything she asked him to do.

But Ralph couldn’t put Will Tyler in prison. She couldn’t even count on Abner to do that. Fortunately, a couple of months ago, an ace had fallen into her hands—an ace she would put into play first thing tomorrow.

* * *

After her late-night encounter with Will, Tori hadn’t looked forward to spending Sunday night at the ranch. She could’ve ridden back to town with Lauren or borrowed a spare vehicle from the ranch, but she was still worried about leaving her daughter. Erin had appeared calm and cheerful all weekend, doing her homework and spending time with her beloved colt. But she’d witnessed something no child should have to see. During Abner Sweeney’s interrogation she’d seemed almost too composed, her recollection of the shooting almost too clear. Tori suspected Erin was keeping her emotions bottled up inside, where they could fester if not given a chance to heal.

So here Tori was, curled on her side in Beau’s former bed, fervently willing sleep to come. But it wasn’t happening—not while her memory kept replaying last night’s explosive clash with her ex-husband—the accusations, the anger . . .

And the hunger in Will’s eyes when he cupped my cheek with his hand.

For Erin’s sake, she and Will had maintained a truce over the years, masking their raw wounds with a layer of polite tolerance. Last night had stripped that layer away.

With a sigh of frustration, Tori turned over and punched her pillow into shape. Why did this have to happen now, when she’d finally met a man who could promise her the secure, stable life she’d always wanted?

Drew was kind, romantic, and thoughtful. More important, he gave her respect and treated her as an equal. With Will, the sex had been amazing. But out of bed he’d treated her more like a possession than a companion. Worse, he’d backed his father, who’d insisted that she abandon her law practice to stay home, mind the house, and breed a tribe of little Tylers. She’d tried that. But the miscarriage and the hemorrhaging that followed had come so close to killing her that it had been necessary for the doctor to perform a partial hysterectomy. She’d given Will one perfect daughter. But Bull had never forgiven her for not having sons.

The grandfather clock, brought here from Savannah by Will’s mother, chimed one. With an inward groan Tori shifted in the bed and closed her eyes. She was finally beginning to drift when a cry shattered the darkness.

The sound had come from Erin’s room.

Tori bolted out of bed, stumbling over her shoes, where she’d left them on the rug. Still in her silk nightgown, she plunged down the hall. Erin’s door was open, the darkness inside broken by a shaft of moonlight falling through the window, lending enough light for Tori to find her way.

“Erin?” She could see her daughter now, sitting up in a nest of covers. Sinking onto the bed beside her, Tori gathered her close. Erin was trembling. Her breath came in little hiccupping sobs.

“It’s all right. I’m here, sweetheart.” Tori stroked the tangled silk of her hair. “What is it? Did something frighten you?”

“B-bad dream,” Erin stammered. “So awful.”

“Erin?” Will had turned on the hall light. Clad in the old Indian-blanket patterned flannel robe Tori had given him for their first Christmas together, he stood in the doorway. “What’s the matter, honey? Are you all right?”

“She’s fine.” Tori clutched her child closer. “Just a nightmare, that’s all.”

Will walked into the room and sat down on Erin’s opposite side. “We’re right here, girl.” His throat was still thick from sleep. “You’re safe.”