Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

“Looks authentic to me. We’ll know more after I check in at the recorder’s office.” Jasper drove in silence for a moment before Bull realized what was happening. Jasper was driving back toward the shack.

“Hey—” He gave Jasper a nudge. “You can turn around and go back now. We’ve got everything we need.”

“Not quite.” Jasper kept driving. “I made a promise to a worried little gal that I’d get her chickens.”

“And get yourself killed while you’re at it? Prescott’s goons could be back there by now.”

“Or not.” Jasper kept driving, the truck bumping over the rough ground. Moments later they sighted the shack. Everything looked quiet. But Bull had Jasper stop the truck at a safe distance, behind the willows, while he circled the shack to make sure the coast was clear. There was no sign of the gunmen but his danger senses were tingling as he walked back to the truck. He didn’t have a good feeling about this.

“Pull up to the fence,” he told Jasper. “We need to do this fast.”

“I’ve got a crate in the back.”

“Fine,” Bull said. “You catch the damned chickens. I’ll keep watch.”

They drove up to the shack. Jasper got the wooden crate, which had held parts for the new windmill, and stepped into the coop. Catching the chickens took him longer than Bull had hoped. The four birds were spooked. They pecked, flapped, and squawked, filling the air with loose feathers. It took Jasper several minutes to get them all in the crate and load it in the pickup bed. By then, Bull could hear riders approaching. They were getting close, too close. He needed a diversion to keep them from seeing the truck.

“Give me the spare gas can and get going,” he told Jasper. “When you’re at a safe distance, stop and wait for me. If I’m not there in ten minutes, go.”

“Be careful.” Jasper handed Bull the gas can, sprang into the cab, and gave the truck full throttle. The old pickup roared away, chickens bouncing and squawking in the open back.

With the riders getting close, Bull stepped inside the shack and doused the floor and surfaces with gasoline. Even the body of poor old Cletus McAdoo was soaked. It wouldn’t be the proper burial the man deserved, but it might be better than he’d get from Prescott’s men.

The shotgun was propped against the wall. A weapon like that one could come in handy if things got nasty with the neighbors. Bull grabbed it. He could hear the gunmen’s voices from the other side of the creek. Time to get out and run like hell.

Taking the box of matches he’d found on top of the potbellied stove, he raced out of the shack and through the gate. There was just enough gasoline in the can to pour a trail, just enough time to light a flame that raced back to the house.

With a startling whoosh, the shack exploded in a ball of fire.

* * *

Later that morning, with the chicken crate safe in a shed and Rose sleeping off her long night in the spare bedroom, Bull sent Jasper to town with the deed. Two hours later Jasper was back, his face wearing a grin.

“So, is that deed worth anything?” Bull asked.

Jasper’s grin broadened. “You’re damn right, it is. The old man had legal title to the land—bought it cheap back in the fifties at some kind of bank repo sale. After he lost his wife and retired from teaching, he moved here. I’m guessing something might’ve gone wrong with his retirement savings, and this place wa

s all he had.”

“Wait, he was a teacher?”

“Yup, an honest-to-God Ph.D. in history. The clerk, that old lady at the county office, remembered him and knew his story. She even remembered that he rode in on a horse last year to get that deed witnessed and notarized. She said the old boy was lookin’ pretty bad by then.”

“And Rose? She must have quite a story to tell.”

“I reckon so. But you’ll have to ask her.” Jasper’s gaze narrowed. “That land is rightfully hers, you know.”

“I know. But she’s just a kid. We can make things right in time. Meanwhile, we’ve got legal access to water for our cattle.”

Bull knew better than to voice his next thought.

And we’ve got a live witness who can nail Ham Prescott’s murdering hide to the side of the barn!

CHAPTER 10

CLIFF RUTLEDGE’S HEART ATTACK HAD ROCKED SUSAN’S WORLD. Although the episode hadn’t been as serious as she’d feared, it had brought home the reality of his illness and the fact that he could die at any time.

The hospital in Lubbock had kept him for four days, giving him nitroglycerin tablets and blood thinners and monitoring his condition. Susan had stayed with him day and night, sleeping on an uncomfortable fold-out chair bed and cleaning up in the bath attached to his private room. As she sat by his bed, watching him sleep, she’d remembered, over and over, how she’d told him about her broken engagement and what had followed.