Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

He looked down at the grave of the man he’d never understood until now. “I’m back, Dad,” he said aloud. “And I’m back to stay.”

* * *

At first light the next morning, Bull saddled Pete, the stallion that had been his father’s favorite horse. By now, all four animals were sound enough to be ridden. It had become a pleasure to mount up in the fresh dawn air and ride the fence lines, looking for spots to be mended.

But pleasure wasn’t what Bull had in mind this morning. He’d spent most of the night lying awake, thinking about the ranch and how he could keep it running. But he did his best thinking in the morning, in the saddle. And he didn’t plan to come back to the paddock until he’d made up his mind about a few things.

This morning he chose to ride the higher pasture in the part of the escarpment that bordered the Prescott Ranch. It was a peaceful section of land, cooler than the flatland below. He could check on the grass, with the idea of moving his small herd of cows and calves up there.

As he rode, taking the old stallion at a walk, he pondered the decisions that had to be made. Williston had left the ranch clear of debt. That meant as long as no money was owed on it, the land would be safe. If worse came to worst, he could sell off all the cattle, get a job somewhere, hunker down, and let the grass grow, or even lease pasture to a friendly neighbor, until he could afford to start ranching again. He didn’t like that idea, but he needed to keep it as an option.

He could also sell off part of the land for enough cash to keep the ranch going. He liked that idea even less. The Rimrock wasn’t a large ranch. Every acre was precious and needed. And Wil

liston had given up too much to keep it.

He weighed the idea of making more coyote runs to Rio Seco. If enough men wanted to come north, and if he didn’t get caught, he could clear enough to cover food and supplies for the rest of the season. But no, Jasper was right. Smuggling illegals across the border was a federal crime. If he tried it again, and got caught, his father’s suffering and death would be for nothing.

Somehow, he had to survive until the calves were ready to sell to a feed lot operation in the fall. With the profits, he could then buy enough harvest-time hay to tide the cows over the winter.

But that would be worth doing only if the cows were pregnant. Otherwise, he’d be better off selling the lot of them.

Damn that fool girl and her nighttime adventure! Bull felt the loss, and the anger, every time he saw Jupiter’s empty pasture. Without a decent stud bull, the small herd had no future.

By now he’d reached the upper pasture. Here the grass, though sparse, was still green, the older wood fence posts undamaged, at least on the surface, but it wouldn’t take much to push them over. He was weighing the wisdom of moving the herd up here when a new sight riveted his attention.

The land here bordered a large pasture that belonged to the Prescott Ranch. In the near distance, he could see cattle grazing—white-faced, red-coated Herefords, all registered stock, he was sure. Among them was a bull—huge, healthy, and as horny as all get-out. The way he was going after those cows, licking, smelling, and mounting, was a beautiful sight to behold.

A hulk like that bull could easily push down a weak wire fence to get to more cows—especially if he had some help. And if a few stray cows wandered over the downed fence to the richer grass on the other side, who would be to blame except the bull?

Wasting no time, Bull dismounted, wrapped his rope around a fence post, and used the horse to yank the post off its partially rotted base. It broke easily, bringing the wire down as it fell. After toppling a second post the same way, Bull laid the wire flat and checked it to make sure no cattle crossing through the gap would become tangled and cut. That done, he coiled his rope, mounted up, and rode back down to the lower pasture to get help moving his herd.

Ham would be apoplectic if he learned what had happened. If he discovered the truth, he’d be capable of killing any Rimrock cattle on his property. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and that was a chance Bull would have to take. He could only trust nature to take its course.

As long as the partnership offer was on the table, he would probably be safe from retaliation. Since healthy cows came into estrus every two or three weeks, it would pay him to stall, to delay his decision as long as possible while the Prescott bull made babies with his cows and heifers. Once he turned Ham down and told the old bastard to go to hell, all bets would be off.

Three weeks with the bull should be enough time to cover most of his cows. He might be pushing his luck, but if the gamble paid off, at the end of the third week he would sort out his own branded stock from the Prescott herd, mend the fence, and wait for a nice crop of spring calves.

* * *

In his search for funds to tide the ranch over, Bull came across a newspaper ad for temporary work as a roustabout, helping dismantle a giant oil rig. The work would be hot, dangerous, and miserable, and he would need to drive to the Gulf Coast for the job. But the two-week window was perfect, and the money would be good, especially if he was willing to work double shifts, seven days a week. A phone call got him the job.

After renting a junk loaner from a garage, for Jasper to drive while he was gone, he loaded up his gear and left. He hated being away from the ranch for that long, but Jasper was capable, and the Mexican boys would be a lot of help. He could check in by pay phone to make sure everything was all right.

After two weeks of backbreaking work in the torrid sun, eating junk food, and sleeping in the truck to save money, Bull pulled into the ranch yard at dawn to find Jasper waiting for him.

“Damn it, it’s about time you showed up,” Jasper said. “I was beginnin’ to worry that you’d got yourself crushed or drowned . . . Lord have mercy, you look like you’ve been broiled alive. You smell like it, too.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry anymore,” Bull said. “As of now, I’m done with the oil business. Anything new around here? Are the cows all right?”

“The cows are fine. I checked on ’em yesterday. The fence is still down, and that big, old bull is goin’ to town on both sides of it. But you won’t want to leave your herd there much longer. Ham came by yesterday. He said to tell you he’s waitin’ on your answer to his business proposition. When you turn him down he’ll be on the warpath. If he finds your cows on his side of the line, he’s liable to shoot the lot of ’em.”

“Let’s chance it for a few more days,” Bull said. “We can always claim the bull pushed the fence down, and we didn’t know about it.” He reached in his hip pocket, took out the wad of bills from his two-week paycheck, counted off $1,000, and thrust the money toward Jasper. “Before I forget, here’s some of your back pay.”

“No need for that.” Jasper put up a hand in protest. “I know you need every cent to run the ranch.”

“Take it,” Bull insisted. “I’ll manage.”

Jasper knew better than to argue. He thanked Bull and pocketed the money. “One more thing,” he said. “Raul and Joaquin came and talked to me last night. One of their friends spotted Carlos’s Buick, with two men in it. They’re camped down by that old gravel pit, about five miles from here.”