Texas Tall (The Tylers of Texas 3)

By the time he finished, tears were flowing down Lauren’s cheeks. “That poor, innocent little boy! Oh, Sky!” She pressed her damp face into the hollow of his shoulder. “There must be something we can do! Can’t we at least get those bones out so we can bury them in the family cemetery?”

“I’ve thought about that,” Sky said. “But I don’t think it’s possible. The hole’s jagged all the way down, and the bones are wedged deep. Even without the snakes there, nobody could get to them safely. And if we tried to lift them out with some kind of line, they’d be liable to break on the way up. The same with blasting out the hole. That little skeleton’s been down there more than fifty years. It’s bound to be fragile. As far as I can tell, the only way to preserve it is to leave it right where it is.”

“Oh, I suppose you’re right. But we’ve got to do something for the memory of that poor child.” Sighing, she snuggled deeper into his arms. For a time they sat in silence, watching the moonrise through the dark window. At last she stirred.

“I just thought of a plan,” she said.

“Want to tell me about it?” He was getting drowsy.

“Not yet. It’ll take a little time, but if I start on it tomorrow . . .” She yawned. “I might need your help. If I do, I’ll let you know.”

“All right, my mysterious lady. I’ll settle for knowing that you can do whatever you set your mind to.”

With a lingering kiss they ended the discussion for the night.

CHAPTER 12

Ralph stood on his front stoop, smoking a Marlboro from the pack Stella had given him. The night breeze was cold, but even in his thin denim jacket, he barely felt the chill. Truth be told, he was too churned up to feel much of anything.

Through the closed door behind him, he could hear the blare of a TV reality show. Vonda liked the one where they locked hot men and women in a house and filmed them bitching at each other, or falling into bed. Stupid show, but that was Vonda for you.

At least he wouldn’t have to put up with her much longer. All he needed to do was carry out Stella’s orders, and he’d soon be on the road with plenty of cash in his pocket.

The cigarette had smoldered low enough to burn his fingers. With a muttered curse he dropped it on the porch, ground it out with his boot heel, and fished another one out of the pack in his pocket. His cheap lighter flared in the darkness as he lit it and inhaled the bittersweet smoke.

From where he stood, he could see the lights from the big stone house where the Tylers lived like royalty, lording it over their land and their cattle and their underpaid shit-shoveling crew, like him. Tomorrow they’d be gathering in the house for Thanksgiving dinner. That was when he would carry out Stella’s plan—the plan that would change everything.

Just thinking about what she wanted was enough to scare the spit out of him. But she’d given him another thousand-dollar payment with his marching orders tonight. Back out now and he could end up as dead as Lute Fletcher.

The job itself would be easy. The hard part would be making sure he wasn’t seen. Get caught, and all bets were off. He’d, for sure, go to jail—unless Stella got to him first. He was just beginning to realize how dangerous the woman was.

He’d already withdrawn his savings—by now, almost $15,000—from the bank, and hidden the cash in his truck. As soon as he’d gotten full payment from Stella, and maybe bought that used truck he’d had his eye on, he’d be out of here.

He turned to go back inside, then paused, torn between need and fear. Maybe he’d be smart to forget the money and go tonight—just get in the old truck and drive. He was already in too deep with Stella. The little he knew about her operation was barely the tip of the iceberg, but it could be enough to damage her. If she knew he planned to leave, he wouldn’t put it past her to make him disappear. All the money in the world wouldn’t do him any good if he wasn’t alive to spend it.

He’d taken two strides toward his truck, when he realized he’d left his keys on the kitchen table. Stopping in his tracks, he cursed. Vonda had been nagging him to stay home more. She would throw a hissy fit if he came in, got the keys, then tried to leave again.

He sighed, feeling trapped. But never mind, it might be better if he stayed, Ralph told himself. He needed the promised cash, and he couldn’t afford to make Stella angry—not yet, at least. After he did the job tomorrow, he’d stick around long enough to make sure the Tylers didn’t suspect him. Then he’d collect his pay, make nice with Stella, and wait for the first chance to make tracks.

The plan made sense, as long as he could make it work. Otherwise, if anything went wrong, he’d be a dead man.

Fear crawling along his nerves, Ralph turned around once more and walked back into the house.

* * *

Bundled in Bernice’s knitted afghan, Tori stood at the porch rail. The evening breeze was cold. Clouds gusted across the sky, playing hide-and-seek with the waning crescent moon. The air smelled of snow, but the forecast was for a mild storm, not a killer like the last norther that had blasted the land with sleet, ice, and lightning.

From the glowing rooms behind her came the sound of a football game on TV, intermingled with whoops and cheers from the watchers—Will, Beau, Sky, Jasper, and Erin. The aroma of baking pies floated from the kitchen, mingling with the homey smells of popcorn and wood smoke. As usual, the Tyler Thanksgiving celebration had started the night before the holiday, with snacks and game watching. Tomorrow, for the first time, Natalie and Lauren would be joining them for the traditional turkey feast.

Tori had always looked forward to the fun, food, and family that was Thanksgiving on the Tylers’ ranch. But this year would be bittersweet. Behind everyone’s smiles and laughter was the awareness that this could be the last holiday when the entire ranch family would be together. Will’s fate hung in the balance, awaiting the outcome of the trial in two weeks. Jasper and Bernice were getting old. Erin was growing up. And as for herself . . .

She brushed back a lock of windblown hair. Drew hadn’t phoned her since leaving for Omaha on Monday. Was he giving her time and space to make up her mind about him? Or had the revelation that she couldn’t have more children cooled his interest?

It surprised her how much she missed him. Drew was an island of stability in the sea of turmoil her life had become. She wasn’t in love with him—not yet, at least. But she liked him. There were even times when she needed him.

“Here you are.” Will had come out onto the porch, moving to stand beside her. He was wearing the plaid woolen shirt he’d worked in that day. It smelled of sagebrush, hay, horses, and his powerful male bo

dy. He stood with his hands on the rail, silent now, as if waiting for her to speak.