“Rose!” His tone mellowed and became welcoming. “Come on in.”
She stepped into his office. Ferg rose to greet her, extending his hand across the massive desk. Rose accepted the handshake. She didn’t trust the man, but right now she needed his help.
He motioned her to a straight-backed chair that faced the desk, then resumed his own seat. “Now what can I do for you, dear girl? Garn mentioned that he saw you on that old creek property your granddad owned. Does that have anything to do with the reason you’re here?”
Rose inferred that Garn hadn’t told his father all that had happened on the creek. But either way, she couldn’t allow that to matter. “You invited me to call on you if I ever needed your help,” she said.
“That’s right. And I meant what I said. So tell me your story.” He gave her a sugary smile. He was making this easy, maybe too easy. But he was her only hope.
“You know that parcel is mine by inheritance, don’t you?”
“I do.” His light brown eyes were fixed intently on her. “And I know that Bull claims to own it now. I know that because I’ve tried to buy it from him, for a fair price of course.”
“Of course. But Bull can’t sell the property because it isn’t his. He took it from me illegally by changing the deed. And now that I want it back, he won’t budge. He’s refused to let me have it.”
“Too bad. But that’s Bull for you.” Ferg was all sympathy. “I take it you need me to twist his arm a little. Not physically, but maybe . . . legally. Yes?”
“Yes. Legally, I mean. I need a lawyer to help me prove my claim. Right now I can’t afford to pay anyone. But if I could just get some advice from the person who handles your legal affairs . . .”
“Say no more!” Ferg exclaimed. “I keep an attorney on retainer. I’m sure he’d be glad to advise you. His office is in Lubbock, but he has some court business in Blanco Springs this afternoon. I’ve already invited him for an early dinner. Why don’t you come, too? You can talk to him then, just informally, and he can give you some suggestions.”
“And if I need more than suggestions?”
“You mean, if you have to sue Bull to get your land back?”
“Something like that. Bull’s dug in his heels. Persuasion isn’t going to change his mind.”
“In that case, it would be my pleasure to help. And if you need a loan to fix the place up the way you want it, I’ll even cosign with the bank. Believe me, I’d rather have you for a neighbor than Bull.”
Still smiling, he stood and extended his hand. “Thank you for calling on me, Rose—may I call you that? Dinner will be at six-thirty. I’ll see you then.”
Rose accepted his handshake and left Ferg’s office. Garn was gone from the porch when she went outside, and there was no sign of Tanner. She climbed into her truck and drove away, feeling almost giddy. She was moving forward on her own, finally taking charge of her life. And if a deep inner voice whispered that she was making a deal with the devil, she willed herself to ignore it. Ferg Prescott was not a good person—that was a given. When it came to dealing with him, she would have to watch her back. But she needed all the help she could get, and sometimes the devil was the only help available.
* * *
After digging up some more wire, Rose filled a bucket from the creek and took a sponge bath inside the camper. The water was cold, the space cramped. But at least by the time she finished, she felt clean.
The few good clothes she had were folded in the bottom of her duffel. María had made her a quincianera dress for her fifteenth birthday party, which was like a coming out for Mexican girls. Rose lifted it from the duffel and held it up for inspection. María had done a beautiful job, but the ruffles and lace were better suited to a fifteen-year-old girl than a grown woman who wanted to be taken seriously. In the end Rose settled for a simple white blouse and a handwoven Mexican skirt, paired with leather sandals and plain silver earrings. There was no mirror in the camper. She would just have to trust that she looked presentable.
Her only working clock was the one on the dashboard of the pickup. When the numbers read 6:20, she started the en
gine and drove the back road to the Prescott Ranch. She pulled up to the house to find Garn waiting on the front porch. Bracing herself, she climbed out of the cab and mounted the steps.
He met her with a grin. “My, oh my, you clean up right nice, Miz Rose,” he said, affecting the mock Texas drawl he’d shed in his everyday speech.
“Don’t start with me, Garn,” she said. “I’ve got more important things on my mind than dealing with your silliness.”
“I know,” he said, dropping the drawl. “Dinner isn’t quite ready yet. I was hoping you’d have a minute to hear what I have to say. I guarantee it’ll be short and sincere.”
She followed as he beckoned her to a corner of the porch. “Well?” she asked as he stopped to face her.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said. “As my father reminded me, I was raised to be a gentleman. No gentleman talks to a woman the way I talked to you. Will you forgive me?”
His expression was as earnest as a coonhound’s. But this change of heart was a bit too sudden to suit Rose. She gave him a frown. “I might be willing. But you said some awful things to me. It’ll take time for me to forget them, and for you to show me that you’ve changed your ways. But meanwhile, I’ll agree to a truce. All right?”
“I guess that’s the best I can expect. Thanks.” Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his khakis, he turned toward the porch rail and gazed out over the flatland. “I’m my father’s only child—the only legal one, at least,” he said. “None of my mom’s other babies survived, and in the end, neither did she. So I’m all the family he’s got. And he can’t stand me. He doesn’t even try to hide it.”
“I’m sorry,” Rose said. “But at least you’ll inherit this ranch when he’s gone. You’ll be rich and powerful without having to lift a finger.”