Texas Free (The Tylers of Texas 5)

“Knowing Ferg, you can guess. I’m beginning to suspect he’s giving me the runaround.”

“Bull and Jasper have a saying—I’ve heard it so many times that I think it must be the Tyler family motto. ‘Trust a skunk before a rattlesnake and a rattlesnake before a Prescott.’ You’d do well to remember that.”

“Thanks, I’ll remind myself.” He paused, wondering how much he could learn from her without making her feel as if she was being grilled. “Ferg keeps telling me that when it comes to cattle rustling, I should check out Bull Tyler and his foreman.”

“Don’t waste your time. Jasper Platt is the most honest man I know. And as for Bull, he’d never stoop to stealing cattle. Land grabbing is more his style.”

“So you don’t think there’s any chance one of them took a shot at me?”

“Why should they? They might chase a trespasser off the Rimrock, but they wouldn’t shoot him. Anyway, the whole crew was off on the roundup

when it happened.”

“At least you saved me some time.” He looked down at her, taking in her smallness, her delicate features, and the marred beauty of her face with the mark that somehow seemed to suit her. He tried to imagine her shooting a Mexican gangster, the courage it must have taken.

“It seems we know a few of each other’s secrets, Rose,” he said. “Can I trust you to keep mine?”

“If I can expect the same from you. Friends—for now, at least?” She held out her hand.

“Friends.” Tanner accepted the handshake, reining back the urge to gather her into his arms and kiss her. It was more than an urge. It was more like a deep, hungry ache, and right now it was the last damned thing he needed.

“You’d better go,” she said.

“You’re staying here?”

“I’m going to camp on this land while I work out a way to fight for it legally—with any help I can find.”

“Camping here won’t be safe,” he said.

Her eyes blazed with determination. “Is anything safe—anything worth having?”

He left her standing by the grave, so alone and so vulnerable that he had to tear himself away. Rose was a bundle of spunk and courage. But given the dangers surrounding her, she was like a little bird flying into a tornado. And short of checking on her—dangerous in itself—there was nothing he could do about it.

Was he falling in love? But Tanner knew better than to entertain that notion. He was fascinated by Rose, even infatuated. And he wanted her the way any man would want a woman. But love? He gave a mental shake of his head as he mounted the horse he’d left in the trees beyond the creek. He would never love again. He had buried his heart in the ashes of a simple frame house in a small Wyoming town.

* * *

That afternoon, tired and dirty after unearthing a long line of rusty fence wire, Rose splashed her hands and face in the creek, smoothed her hair, and set out for the Prescott Ranch. She was taking a chance, just showing up without an invitation, but she’d lost her access to a phone when she’d left the Rimrock. She’d lost access to other things, too, including meals.

Out of principle, she’d taken nothing from the Rimrock kitchen. After a morning’s hard work with no breakfast, her empty stomach was growling. But hunger would have to wait for a trip to town. And the trip would have to wait until after she’d spoken with Ferg. Right now, her whole plan hinged on getting his help.

Feeling awkward, she drove up to the house and parked below the porch. She’d been here before, but there was something about the place, with its towering gables and gingerbread trim, that made her feel small and unimportant.

Climbing out of the cab, she glimpsed a few of the hands going about their work. Tanner wasn’t among them, and she chided herself for looking. He’d been friendly to her, but Rose knew better than to read more into his actions.

As she mounted the porch steps, she saw Garn lounging in the swing. He gave her a slow grin. “Change your mind?” he asked.

“I’m here to see your father,” she said.

“Go on in. The king is in his throne room down the hall. Just in case you’re wondering, Ferg Prescott may be the boss around here, but I’ve got a bigger dick.”

“If that’s the way you talk to women, I’m guessing you don’t get much chance to use it.” Rose walked through the open front door. Behind her, Garn burst into hoots of laughter.

Rose told herself she should have kept quiet and ignored the overgrown brat, as she walked past the gallery of stuffed trophy heads and made her way down the hall to Ferg’s office. She had a smart mouth and a bad habit of using it too freely, especially when somebody needed putting down.

Ferg’s office door stood ajar. Rose gave it a light rap. “Who’s there?” a voice grumbled from inside the room.

Her heart sank. “It’s Rose, Mr. Prescott. Rose Landro.”