Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

“Did Dad?”

Vivian’s expression froze. She took a slow sip of her tea. “Let’s just say that I’ve never been sorry I chose him. He’s given me a good life. And he gave me you.”

“I see.” Susan poked at the overcooked bacon and undercooked eggs on her plate. The last thing she felt like was eating. She understood the life her mother had created—the friends, the parties, the shopping. But it wasn’t the kind of life, or the kind of marriage, she wanted for herself.

“I need to get away from here, Mother,” she said. “Take me back to Savannah with you. Take me home.”

Vivian looked alarmed, then shook her head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I have some pressing engagements, and somebody has to stay here to look after your father.”

“He could fly with us. Surely he’s well enough by now. We could all go home together. And I could spend some time getting ready for school in the fall.”

“About school,” Vivian said, and Susan’s heart sank. “With things so uncertain between you and Ferguson, maybe you should stay here and try to work things out. You could even get married this summer, here in Texas. After all, why should you need to go to college? You’ll have plenty of money as it is. And it’s not good for a woman to have more education than her husband. It makes him feel inferior, less like a man.”

“Mother, you aren’t listening.” Susan rose from her chair to face her mother. “I don’t want to marry Ferg. I don’t love him. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t love me. All I want is to go home and go to college.”

“Well.” Vivian’s teacup clattered into its saucer. “You’re not doing either unless we give you the money.”

“I’ve got my credit card.”

“Which your father pays—or his accountant does. That won’t get you very far. As long as we’re holding the purse strings, we’ll be the ones calling the shots, honey.”

“Then I’ll leave on my own. I’ll get a job. People do things like that all the time.”

“Get a job?” Vivian laughed. “What kind of job? Scrubbing floors? Slinging hamburgers? We raised you to be a lady and to marry well. If you’re smart and keep your looks, that’s all you’ll ever need.”

“Mother, I don’t know what time warp you’re living in, but this is the twentieth century. I’m almost nineteen years old, and I don’t have to do what you say.”

Susan walked out of the dining room, grabbed her hat off the rack, and left through the front door. By the time she’d crossed the yard to the stable, she was fighting tears. She loved her parents. She’d always tried to please them, but marrying Ferg would turn her into her mother—an unhappy woman whose entire life was built on appearances. She wanted something more—something real and meaningful, even if it meant not getting married at all.

The young stable hand had learned to anticipate her morning rides. Her bay mare was saddled and waiting. She mounted up and took the road that wound among the pastures. The morning was still cool. A meadowlark trilled from a fence post. A flock of blackbirds lifted from a willow tree that overhung the creek. A few wispy clouds drifted in a clear sky that would become brutal as the sun rose high. She wasn’t sure where she was going this morning. She only knew that she didn’t want to go back and face her parents, or Ferg, for a very long time.

* * *

Two days ago, Bull had spent a half day readying the old McAdoo parcel for cattle watering. While Jasper took Rose to Lubbock for more clothes shopping, Bull had taken the two young cowhands in the truck. They’d spent several hot, dirty hours taking down parts of the fence, knocking over what was left of the burned shack and outbuildings, and burying the charred remains of the old man’s corpse under a fallen cottonwood, where the cattle wouldn’t trample it. One of the boys had improvised a wooden cross and planted it in the loose earth. It wasn’t much of a grave, but at least if Rose wanted to visit it, there’d be something to see.

They’d dug a shallow pit to bury whatever wouldn’t burn, raked it over, and cleared the creek bank to make room for drinking cattle. Bull had half-expected to see Ham Prescott’s hired guns come riding through the trees. He’d strapped on his .44 and stowed the bi

g shotgun behind the seat in the truck, loaded with shells he’d found in the ranch house. But no one had shown up to bother them. So far, Ham was keeping his word.

The next day, when they’d run the cattle to water in batches of two dozen at a time, Bull had been extra wary. Leaving Rose to watch the ranch house, he’d armed Jasper and the boys and brought them along to make sure no Rimrock animals crossed the creek. Again, there’d been no trouble. But Bull couldn’t help being nervous. Things were going too well. It wasn’t like Ham to give up without a fight.

He’d already started thinking of a safer and more efficient way to use the water. If he could dig and line a catch basin to make a watering tank, or even install a metal one, a safe distance from the creek, he could then dig a ditch to fill it from the creek—or better yet, bury a length of PVC pipe with a hidden head gate next to the creek. For the time it would take to fill the tank, the creek could be diverted, say, at night, when the reduced flow to the Prescott Ranch wouldn’t likely be noticed.

Jasper had reacted to the idea with caution. “Ham’s not gonna be too happy if he finds out you’re blockin’ the creek.”

“Ham can’t touch us as long as we’ve got Rose. We’ve got him over a barrel.”

“That’s what worries me. Don’t underestimate the old buzzard. He didn’t live this long by bein’ stupid.”

Bull had let the matter rest with Jasper. But he was already drawing plans and making estimates on renting a backhoe to dig the tank versus buying a prefabricated metal one.

This morning he would make some phone calls and get some bids. At least it was a start. But the creek water was only a stop-gap solution to a long-term problem. If he was to grow his herd in the seasons ahead, he was going to need an ample source of water and more land—enough water and land to start growing hay for a winter supply.

After a breakfast of ham and scrambled eggs from Rose’s hens, he wandered outside. The ranch yard was quiet this morning. Jasper had left early and taken the boys to water the cattle. Rose was cleaning up in the kitchen. There was no sign of the dogs. Maybe they’d gone with Jasper.

“Right pretty day, isn’t it?” Rose had come out to stand beside him. She had dressed in her old clothes, after insisting that the jeans and shirts she’d picked out in town were too nice for work. She’d changed into her new clothes only long enough to launder the old ones.

“Gonna get hot,” Bull said.