Texas True (The Tylers of Texas 1)

As if to make up for his rough entry into the world, the little fellow was already struggling to stand. He worked his rear up onto his impossibly long hind legs, toppled into the straw, and promptly tried again. The third time, with nuzzling encouragement from his mother, he made it. Wide-eyed and quivering, he stood for the first time, gleaming like a little piece of the sun.

Sky glanced back at Will. “Now you can get Erin.”

But Will had no sooner turned to go than Erin burst into the barn. Still in her pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and flannel robe, she’d evidently seen the lights from across the yard and discovered that her father was missing from the house.

“Is it born?” She was out of breath, her long hair tangled from sleep. “Is my foal here?”

Erin pushed forward past the watchers. Natalie had stripped off her gloves and moved back to stand near Beau. Only Sky remained in the stall with the mare and foal. Straightening, he turned and gave her a rare smile. “Come on in, Erin,” he said in a voice that scarcely rose above a whisper. “Quietly, now.”

Erin knew how to behave around mares with new foals. She walked softly into the stall, making no sudden moves. Only when she was close enough did Sky step aside, giving her a full view of the foal. “Oh!” she gasped. “Oh, he’s so beautiful!”

“Come and touch him,” Sky said. “Since he’s to be yours, you’ll want him and his mother to know your smell.” Beckoning her close, he took her hand and rubbed it along the foal’s back. “That’s it. Now put your arms around him. Lean over his back and give him a hug. You’ll want your scent all over him. And you’ll want him to know that scent means something good.”

Almost sobbing with excitement, Erin did as she was told. As she embraced her foal, a quiver passed through the small body. Lupita raised her head and nickered.

Sky touched Erin’s arm. “That’s enough for now. I think this little fellow’s ready for a meal.”

Released, the foal tottered under his mother, butted instinctively for a teat, and began to suck. His creamy little tail twitched with pleasure as he drank.

Beau glanced down at Natalie. Her cheeks were wet with tears. As if sensing his eyes on her, she looked up at him. “Sorry,” she muttered. “For a vet, I’m way too emotional. It’s late. Time for me to go.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Beau said.

“No.” Her eyes flashed him a warning look before she turned to gather up her gear. A moment later she said good night to the others and strode out of the barn.

Beau watched her leave, aware she was right not to trust being alone with him. Every time she was around, he had trouble keeping his eyes off her, let alone his hands. As much as he might wish otherwise, she wasn’t his girl anymore. She was another man’s wife. The sooner he accepted that, the better off both of them would be.

CHAPTER 3

It was almost 10:00 p.m. when Lute walked through the front door of the Blue Coyote. He’d hitched a ride to town with a cowboy named Ralph who had a ’93 Chevy pickup and a girlfriend who worked the late shift at Burger Shack. One of these days he’d have his own car, Lute vowed as the pickup pulled away. And it wouldn’t be a twenty-year-old piece of crap like Ralph drove, either.

Inside, the antiquated sound system was playing Hank Williams, which fit the retro theme of the place. There were autographed photos of old-time rodeo stars on the walls. A set of massive, mounted longhorns, wider than the span of a big man’s arms, hung over the big-screen TV above the bar.

Stella, the busty, middle-aged redhead who owned the place, knew all her customers by name. Tonight she was dressed in a black silk shirt embroidered with roses and a tight denim skirt. “Howdy, Lute,” she greeted him. “Have a seat and tell Nigel here what you’re drinkin’ tonight.”

Nigel, who served as bartender and bouncer, seemed out of place in the Western-style bar. With tattooed arms, a wrestler’s build, and a shaved head, he looked more like a biker than a cowboy. But he knew his job, and if anybody messed with him, they didn’t do it a second time.

Lute ordered the cheapest beer on the menu, paid for it with the last of his pocket change, and nursed it while he scanned the crowded bar. Just his damned luck, Slade Haskell wasn’t here. But since Ralph wouldn’t be by to pick him up for a couple of hours, he had time to kill.

Jess, the only waitress in sight, bustled past him with a tray full of drinks. Lute watched her walk away, liking the tight fit of her jeans, her black T-shirt, and the perky little pink boots on her feet. She was young and thin, with limp brown hair and a tired expression on her pretty face. Lute wouldn’t have minded getting to know her. As a half-blood Comanche with scarcely a dime to his name, he had more sense than to hit on the girl. But once he had money and a car, things would be different.

He’d finished the beer and was fidgeting with the empty bottle when Slade walked in. He was wearing his work clothes and looked pissed, like maybe he’d had a fight with that hot wife of his. Lute bit at the edge of his lower lip, wondering whether this might be a bad time to approach Haskell about a job. Trouble was, he didn’t know when there might be a better one, and he was tired of shoveling shit all day.

Deciding that tonight might be his only chance, Lute pushed off the bar stool and wandered over to the booth where Slade Haskell sat alone. “I heard a rumor you might have an opening for a driver,” he remarked, trying to sound cool and offhand.

Glancing up, Slade looked him over. “You asked me about a job a couple weeks ago. You’re the kid working out at the Tyler spread, aren’t you?”

“I work there,” he admitted, “until I can find something that pays better. Cleaning out stables isn’t exactly something I want to do the rest of my life.”

“So you were the one in there when she checked on that mare.” His gaze narrowed on Lute in thoughtful study.

“That was me.” He nodded, and wondered how much more he should say—and where it might get him. “Quite the reunion it was between two old . . . friends.” He hesitated deliberately to stress the latter word.

“Really.” The single-word response from Slade seemed to encou

rage Lute to say more.

“I got the feeling they were old flames,” he volunteered. “But something told me the fire wasn’t out as far as Beau was concerned.”