Texas Free (The Tylers of Texas 5)

The old Buick was gone from where she’d left it, taken to someplace where it would be cleaned or stored. And the envelope of money—more cash than she had ever seen in her life—was straining the rivets on the hip pocket of her jeans.

In the past hour, her life had taken on a surreal quality—money in her pocket and Ferg Prescott offering to be her new best friend. She’d have to be crazy to trust the man. Bull and Jasper didn’t hate him for nothing. But he’d just given her what she needed and hinted at more to come. Maybe he’d even be willing to help her get her land back.

But what would he demand in return?

Had she just sold her soul to the devil?

A shiny, dark blue pickup had come around the barn and was headed for the house. That would be her ride to town. Rose came down the steps as the truck pulled up to the foot of the porch. She was about to open the passenger door and climb in when the driver swung to the ground, strode around the truck, and opened the door for her.

Without a word he reached out to help her into the high seat. Glancing up, Rose glimpsed a craggy face, dark hair lightly silvered at the temples, and steel gray eyes. He was no movie star, but the skip of her pulse told her that his sheer masculinity had touched off a response.

She lowered her gaze. Hard experience had taught her to be wary of attractive men. They tended to think they could take whatever they wanted from a woman—especially a marked girl who would probably be grateful for the attention. Rose would never have called herself shy. But her self-protective instincts were razor sharp.

Avoiding eye contact, she clasped his forearm to lever herself upward. Through the worn flannel sleeve, his muscles were like ropes, taut and hard. His faded shirt and worn leather vest smelled of clean, fresh hay, as if he might have been working in the barn when he was called to drive her.

As she groped for the seat belt, he closed the door, went back around the truck, and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Tanner McCade’s the name, Miss. You want to go to town, right?” The sharp inflection of his words told her he wasn’t from Texas.

“That’s right,” she said. “I need to go someplace where I can buy a used truck. Mr. Prescott told me about a garage.”

“I know the place. I’ll wait while you look, in case you don’t see what you want.” He paused as if waiting for her reply, which didn’t come. “Believe me, you don’t want to be stranded in Blanco Springs,” he said.

She shrugged. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“A bother? When it’s this or muck out the stable, it’s an easy choice.”

“Thanks.” He had made her smile, a rare accomplishment. But that didn’t mean she trusted him any more. Something told her that with this man, she would have to watch her every move and her every word.

Tanner McCade. The name sounded as if it belonged to a movie cowboy. For all she knew, he could’ve made it up. Was he what he appeared to be, a simple cowhand working for Ferg Prescott, or did he have his own agenda? Whoever he was, or however he might try to charm her, one thing was certain. She couldn’t afford to trust him.

* * *

Tanner turned the truck onto the main highway. The woman sat in silence beside him. Rose. Garn Prescott had mentioned her name. It didn’t suit her, Tanner thought. Or maybe it did. She was a prickly little thing, more like a wild rose than one of the hothouse beauties Ferg Prescott

’s late wife had planted below the porch.

He knew, of course, why Prescott had asked him to drive her to town. Prescott wanted him to get her talking and report back on anything she told him. So far, the lady wasn’t cooperating.

Was she in league with the cattle rustlers? That was what he was really supposed to find out. But Prescott seemed to want something else. Was it because he suspected Rose of murdering his father, or were his reasons even deeper and darker?

Never mind. He was here to investigate the rustling, not serve as Prescott’s private spy. Unless she mentioned cattle, he was under no obligation to pass on anything he heard.

“I have a question,” she said. “Mr. Prescott told me that one of his hands saw me this morning, and that the man told him about my car. Was that you?”

“It was. I was riding fence and saw you drive up.” A necessary half lie.

“Why didn’t you show yourself or say something?”

“I didn’t want to startle you. And I figured that whatever you were doing, as long as it wasn’t on Prescott property, it was none of my business.” Another necessary lie.

“But you told your boss. And you weren’t riding fence when you saw me. There isn’t a fence on that part of the boundary, just the creek.”

The woman was damned sharp.

“I mentioned you in passing. And no, I wasn’t riding fence. The boss wanted me to look into some missing cattle. I was checking for tracks.”

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.” Except you.