Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

“Before you think too hard, there’s somethin’ you need to hear,” Jasper said. “I promised your dad I wouldn’t tell you this, but wherever he is now, I think he’d forgive me.” He nodded toward one of the two battered lawn chairs on the porch. “Sit down.”

Wide awake now, Bull sat. Since his return to the ranch, he’d sensed that Jasper was keeping secrets. Whatever he was about to learn, something told him it would change his life.

Jasper took the other chair and turned it toward Bull. “I know you’ve had a hard time believin’ your dad loved you. Maybe you’ll believe it after you hear this.” He cleared his throat. “Williston Tyler might not’ve been the best man who ever lived, but he sure as hell was one of the toughest. You been wantin’ to know how he died and what killed him. Fine. Here’s the real story.”

Jasper paused for a moment, gazing out across the yard. In the stillness, the vanes of the windmill creaked in the wind. A horse nickered in the paddock. Bull waited, knowing better than to rush the story he was about to hear.

“Last year, Williston was having some pain in his gut,” Jasper began. “At first I thought maybe it was his liver, from the drinkin’. When it didn’t go away I finally talked him into seeing a doctor. They did an X-ray. It was cancer.”

Cancer. The word sent a chill through Bull’s body. He’d known a few people with cancer, and he’d seen what it did to them. All of them were dead now. “What kind of cancer?” he asked.

“I don’t remember the details. It was a kind that spreads and kills if it isn’t stopped. But the doctors told Williston he was one of the lucky ones. They’d caught it early. With surgery and chemotherapy, they said, there was a good chance they could save his life.”

“What happened?”

“About what you’d guess. Williston found out what the treatment would cost. The only way to pay for it would be to sell the Rimrock. He refused to do that. He said he wanted to save it for his boy.”

“Oh, Lord . . .” Bull hunched over his knees as if he’d been gut kicked. The awareness of what his father had chosen and why was like an auger boring between his ribs, drilling into his heart. He’d seen cancer—the wasting away, the ungodly pain. His father—the man he’d cursed and vowed never to see again—had gone through that hell, with no treatment, to preserve this land for his son—and his future descendants.

Jasper leaned closer. “Through it all, right up to the week he went missing, Williston dragged his body into the saddle every morning and went out to work the stock. Except for me, and maybe a couple of the hands who’d known him a long time, nobody knew he had cancer. They just thought he was drunk, which he pretty much was toward the end. It was the only way he had to dull the pain.”

“So the Prescotts didn’t know?”

“Not unless they guessed. Williston kept away from them as much as he could.”

“So when he went over that cliff . . .” Bull swallowed hard. “He could’ve stepped off on purpose.”

“Lord knows he was in enough pain. But it wasn’t like him to quit that way. And I know for a fact he wanted to see you again before he died.”

Bull gazed down at his hands, letting the words sink in. What if he’d forgiven his father and come home to make peace? But why wonder? It was too late to change things.

“Wouldn’t the autopsy have shown he had cancer?” he asked.

“It couldn’t have been much of an autopsy. The body was in bad shape from the fall, and old Gaines is just a general practitioner, not even a surgeon. He probably didn’t do any more poking around than he had to.”

Jasper rose from his chair. “The last thing Williston told me was to go and find you. That’s what I did. So take that thought to bed with you, Bull Tyler. And ask yourself what your dad would want you to do about that partnership.”

Jasper walked down the steps, then paused and looked back. “Your dad loved you all along. If he was hard on you, it was only because he knew you’d need to grow up tough.” With that he headed across the yard, toward the horse paddock.

Bull watched Jasper’s lanky figure vanish into the dark. Rising from the chair, he turned toward the screen door to go inside, then changed his mind and moved off the porch. Earlier, he’d been ready for bed. Now he was too strung out to sleep.

His wandering footsteps took him around the back of the house and up the slope of the small hill where his parents were buried. It wasn’t his first visit to the spot. The day after his return to the ranch, he’d paused for a moment there, out of familial duty. But tonight was different. As he stood by the sad, bare mound of earth, he imagined his father, in the throes of excruciating pain, mounting up to work cattle on the land he loved—the land he was determined to save for his son, for his grandchildren, and for generations to come.

At that moment, something flashed in Bull’s mind. He remembered asking Ham Prescott whether Ferg would be involved in the partnership. And he remembered the essence of Ham’s reply.

Ferg wouldn’t be a partner. Neither would Susan. It would just be the three of us. We’d set up a trust with the partners as heirs.

With the partners as heirs . . .

Bull swore out loud as the truth hit home. If Ferg and Susan wouldn’t be heirs to the trust, neither would his own future family. At his death, which could come a lot sooner than expected, the Rimrock would revert to the partners. His offspring would get nothing.

Trust a skunk before a rattlesnake, and a rattlesnake before a Prescott.

His father and Jasper had been right. Once the partnership was drawn up and signed, Ham would pay some thug to see that Bull met with an “accident.” After that, Ham would likely buy out Rutledge’s share at half the ranch’s value. Just like that, the Rimrock would be Prescott land.

Bull’s curses purpled the night air. Why hadn’t he seen through the scheme right off? Maybe the brandy had gone to his head—or maybe it had been the girl. For all he knew, she’d been told to flirt with him.

Never again, he vowed. If the Prescotts wanted a war, he would give them one. If they came at him, he would fight back double. If they were smart, he would be smarter, tougher, and meaner.