Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

The barn door stood open, light falling in shafts through the sagging roof. An owl, slumbering on a rafter, screeched an alarm and flashed upward to vanish into the shadows above the loft. Bull could see the shovels propped against the side of an empty stall. Toward the back of the barn, he could make out a wheelbarrow, a pitchfork, one rectangular bale of hay, and scattered pieces of another—barely enough to keep the precious stock alive.

Leaving the shovels for a second trip, he strode to the hay, hefted the bale into the wheelbarrow, and gathered up the rest. He was pushing the wheelbarrow through the barn door when a metallic glint in the dust caught his eye.

Bending, he picked up a silver crucifix dangling from a broken chain. His pulse slammed. Carlos, a devout Catholic, had worn that crucifix day and night, as his father had worn it before him. He would never willingly take it off.

A chill passed through Bull’s body. Something had happened to the old man—maybe the same thing that had happened to his father.

After dropping the crucifix into his shirt pocket, he pushed the loaded wheelbarrow out to the paddock. Sharing his discovery would have to wait until the starving animals were fed.

The horses crowded in as he forked the precious hay over the fence. There was barely enough for a few bites, but for now it would have to do.

Jasper was still running water into the cow troughs. Leaving the hose, he helped Bull pitch hay over the fence for the cows and calves and for Jupiter.

“That’ll have to do till we get more,” Bull said. “But right now I’ve got something else to show you. I found this coming out of the barn.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crucifix on its broken silver chain.

Jasper’s breath sucked in as he recognized it.

“Damn!” He took the crucifix from Bull’s hand and clenched his fist around it. “I should’ve known Carlos wouldn’t go off on his own. Now I’m wishin’ he had. Anything would be better than that poor old man lyin’ dead somewhere.”

And the old man would be dead for sure by now, Bull thought. If Carlos had been gone long enough for the animals to run out of hay and water, he wasn’t coming back.

“Maybe he caught somebody tryin’ to steal his car,” Jasper said. “It’s gone, same as Carlos. He loved that old Buick, restored it himself, paint and all. It was his baby.”

“Or this could be the Prescotts’ way of spooking us into selling,” Bull said. “I wouldn’t put anything past them.”

Jasper’s eyes narrowed. “Watch what you say and who you say it to, Bull. Placin’ blame where there ain’t no proof will only get you in trouble. Anybody could’ve stole that car—teenage thugs, wetbacks cuttin’ through the property—anybody. Carlos would’ve tried to stop them, but he couldn’t have put up much of a fight. Poor old man didn’t even own a gun.”

Bull nodded. Jasper was right. The Prescotts might be looking to take over the ranch, but that didn’t mean they’d commit murder to get it. That sort of thing only happened in the movies. Unless he could find solid proof, he’d be smart to keep his mouth shut.

“We should at least call the sheriff and have him put out an alert on the car,” he said. “That old Buick should be easy to spot.”

“Good idea.” Jasper dropped the crucifix into his pocket. “Trouble is, the phone company shut us down a couple of months ago on account of not gettin’ paid. If you want to talk to the sheriff, you’ll have to drive into town.”

“Give me the keys. I’ll pick up some hay and a few groceries while I’m there. Is Sam Handley still sheriff?”

“Sam keeled over from a heart attack last year. Vern Mossberg is sheriff now.”

“Do I know him?”

“Not likely. He’s new in town. That’s just one of the things that’ve changed since you left. While you’re still settlin’ in, you might want to play your cards close to your vest.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Bull took the keys. “I’ll try not to be gone too long. And I’ll help you bury that calf when I get back.”

* * *

Jasper watched the pickup disappear down the bumpy road. Maybe he should’ve gone along on the ride back to town. Williston’s boy had grown up big and strong. But young Bull had a lot to learn. He was bound to make mistakes. Maybe that was the only way to get smart.

Keeping a sharp eye out, Jasper walked around the barn and past the sheds to a patch of cleared ground on a low rise of land. There, bordered by rocks and marked by crude wooden slabs, were two graves. The older, smaller one was covered with the dry remnants of spring wildflowers, now gone to seed. The newer grave was a narrow mound of raw earth, the dust lightly blowing off the top. Jasper stood at the foot of that grave and spoke out loud.

“Well, Williston, I kept my promise. I found your boy and brought him home. You’d be proud of how he’s turned out. One day he’ll be a man who can hold his head up anywhere. But Lord Almighty, thinkin’ about the hard times he’ll be facin’ gives me the cold shivers.”

As if in answer, a breath of wind blew over the grave, stirring dust into Jasper’s eyes. Jasper blinked away a tear. Williston Tyler had been the saddest man he’d ever known, and one of the toughest. Even toward the end of his life, when he’d been in so much pain he could barely stand to mount a horse, Williston had insisted on working cattle with the hired hands.

“I know you was hard on the boy,” Jasper continued. “And I know he hated you for it. Maybe one day he’ll understand why you did what you did, and how much you really loved him. But since I promised not to tell him the truth right off, I reckon he’ll just have to figure it out for his self.”

Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Jasper turned and walked back toward the barn. He’d never promised Williston he’d stay on, he reminded himself. He had plenty of reason to leave, including a pretty girl back in the hill country, just waiting for him to come home, marry her, and settle down on her dad’s farm. But he couldn’t leave yet—not with the ranch teetering on the brink of ruin and Williston’s boy so inexperienced and unaware of the dangers. Walking away now would be like leaving a half-grown pup in the path of a cattle stampede.