Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

Had her father’s heart attack been her fault?

Her uncle Ham had come by twice, once with Ferg. The two of them had been polite but distant to Susan, almost as if they blamed her, too. It was as if they were quietly piling on the guilt, waiting for her to break and change her mind.

On leaving the hospital for the ranch—a return trip to Georgia being out of the question—Cliff was ordered to rest and ease slowly into his usual routine. As his daughter and the only woman in the house, it was a given that Susan would be his nurse. He was a demanding patient, but at least caring for him helped ease her conscience.

Her mother had called and made excuses for not flying out right away—the heat, her busy schedule, the scarcity of airline tickets, and so on. Only after learning about Susan’s broken engagement did she put the household on notice that she’d scheduled the flight and would be there in a few days.

Susan was dreading her visit. Where Vivian Rutledge went, drama followed.

On her father’s fourth day home, Susan was tidying the neglected parlor. She was wiping dusty boot prints off the coffee table when the front doorbell rang. She suppressed a groan of dismay. Her mother wasn’t due until after four o’clock. It wasn’t even noon yet. Had she flown in early?

With the dust cloth still in one hand, Susan hurried to the door and opened it.

Bull Tyler stood on the threshold.

The cloth fell to the floor. A muffled whimper escaped her lips. He looked tall and strong and clean, his eyes even bluer than she remembered. The urge to fling herself into his protecting arms was like a cry inside her.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“I’ve got business with your uncle.” He took in her tired eyes, her gaunt face bare of makeup, and the hair she’d barely had time to finger-comb into a sloppy ponytail.

“Are you all right, Susan?” he asked.

Touching a finger to her lips, she motioned him out onto the porch and closed the door behind them. His gaze flickered to her bare left hand. She saw the question in his eyes.

“I broke my engagement,” she said, the words coming in a rush. “When I told my father what I’d done, he had a heart attack—a real one. He’s out of the hospital—I’m taking care of him here. And now my mother’s coming today. Sorry, everything’s been crazy.” She glanced past the porch, remembering what Ferg had threatened to do if he saw them together. “We can’t talk now. I’ve got to go in. But you said you came to see Uncle Ham, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I phoned. He’s expecting me.”

“Come on inside. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

He followed her into the parlor, his stride powerful and confident. The young man who’d once copied her table etiquette at dinner had come a long way.

Ham’s office was open. When Susan told her uncle that Bull was here to see him, he frowned and nodded. “Send him in.”

Susan stepped aside for Bull to enter. The door would be shut behind him. She wouldn’t be able to see what was happening between the two enemies.

But no power on earth could keep her from listening.

* * *

Ham sat behind his heavy desk. He didn’t bother to stand when Bull walked into his office—most certainly a deliberate slight. The head of the Prescott family was aging, Bull thought as he closed the door. Skin hung in pouches below his eyes. Jowls sagged over his jawline.

“You said you had business, Tyler,” he growled. “Let’s hear it.”

“I just have something to show you.” Still standing, Bull drew a narrow manila envelope from a pocket inside his leather vest. Unfolding the paper inside, he thrust it close enough for Ham to see. “This is a legally recorded deed to the former McAdoo property on the creek. The old man sold it to me before he died.”

Ham’s jaw clenched. His eyes bulged as Bull folded the deed again, slid it into the envelope, and replaced it in his vest.

“The property belongs to the Rimrock now,” Bull said. “I have the right to water my cattle on that side of the creek, and you have no right to interfere.”

Ham found his voice. “Don’t think you can get away with this, Tyler. Run your cattle on that land and I’ll shoot every last one of ’em.”

“Like you shot Cletus McAdoo? I stopped by the place and found him dying. He told me you did it.”

Ham’s jaw quivered. “If he’s dead, you can’t prove a damned thing.”

“That’s what you think. McAdoo wasn’t alone when he was shot. There was somebody else in the cabin, a witness who can testify in court that you pulled the trigger.”