Texas Free (The Tylers of Texas 5)

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Will grumbled.

“I wouldn’t be babysitting, just helping out,” Rose said. “You can show me what to do.”

“Can you ride a horse?” Will asked.

“Sure.” Rose had helped the Ortegas herd sheep on horseback, spending long days in the saddle.

“If you can ride a horse, we can go to the canyon,” Beau piped up.

Rose glanced at Bernice. “Would that be all right?”

“If you don’t go too far. It’s easy to get lost out there.”

“We won’t get lost,” Will said. “We’ll go to the canyon with the horse pictures. I know the way.”

“All right. You can go after lunch. But only if you get your chores done.”

“Yay!” Beau clapped his hands.

Will gave him a stern look. “We have to get our chores done first. Jasper gave me the list last night. It’s in the bedroom. I’ll get it after we eat.”

After breakfast, Rose waited in the great room with Beau while Will fetched the list. The portrait of Susan, in blue silk and pearls, hung behind them on the wall. Rose turned to look at it, remembering the day Susan had pitched in to help her and Bull bathe the muddy dogs, and how she’d laughed as smelly mud spattered her from head to toe. In the portrait, probably painted when she’d graduated from high school, she looked like a princess. But there’d been more to Susan Rutledge Tyler than beauty. No wonder Bull was desolate without her.

“That’s my mom,” Beau said. “I look at this picture every day. It helps me remember her.”

“I remember her, too,” Rose said. “She was beautiful.”

He looked surprised. “Were you her friend?”

“Not really. I didn’t know her very long. But I liked her.”

“My dad met her when he went back to Georgia to buy a horse,” Beau said. “He saw her and they fell in love. Her folks said she couldn’t marry him because he wasn’t rich, but they got married anyway.”

Rose gave him a smile. That wasn’t the story she remembered, but if this version had become the family legend, who was she to challenge it?

“Let’s get going.” Will headed for the front door with the list in his hand. The boys were expected to work hard on their day off. The list included raking the chicken yard and gathering the eggs, picking up any trash that the dogs or hired hands had left on the ground, shoveling up the dog droppings, filling the water troughs in the stalls and paddocks, and sweeping out the open space in the barn. Even with Rose pitching in, it was a lot for two boys to do. The dogs tagged after them around the yard, happy to have their young masters outside for company on a warm spring day, with the bright sky overhead and the smell of pit barbecue wafting from behind the bunkhouse. Today would be the final day of the spring roundup, and everyone on the ranch looked forward to the celebration that would follow.

“You missed that cigarette wrapper, Beau.” Will pointed to a scrap of white by the bunkhouse door. “Go back and pick it up.”

Beau did as he was told, but his face was a thundercloud. Young as he was, the boy had a mind of his own. Rose couldn’t help wondering what would happen on that inevitable day when he finally stood up to his brother. For now, the best she could do was distract both boys.

“Hey, we’re almost done!” she declared. “Come on, I’ll race you to the water tap.”

Spurred by her challenge, they took off running. Beau, a small streak of lightning, was all smiles when he won. “He always gets ahead of me,” Will complained. “I’m the oldest. It isn’t fair.”

“I’m just faster than you. That’s all, you old slowpoke,” Beau said.

Rose, who’d finished last, made a show of being breathless. “Well, you’re both faster than I am!” she said, panting. “Let’s get our work done.”

* * *

Tanner had been with the roundup crew on the far range most of the morning, cutting out last year’s calves for vaccinations, branding, and castrating. It was hard, dirty work, though no worse than what he’d done on the family ranch in Wyoming. But the real job he’d come to do, keeping his ears open for any talk of rustling, was even more frustrating. He’d learned nothing. Meanwhile, Ferg was getting free labor courtesy of the TSCRA.

It came as a relief when the graying, sun-weathered foreman hailed him and beckoned him out of the melee of hides, horns, sweat, and dirt.

“Just got word that the boss wants you back at the house, McCade. Pronto,” he said. “Leave your horse. The boy who came to fetch you will drive you back in the truck.”

What now? Tanner dismounted, handed off his horse to another cowboy, and headed for the pickup that had just pulled in. What was going on? Was this some new, important development, or was Ferg just pulling his strings again?