Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

“It’s pretty anyway,” she replied. “Where’s Jasper?”

“He’s herding the cows to the creek for a drink.”

“My grandpa’s creek?”

“Uh-huh.” Bull could sense where this was heading. He’d avoided this conversation as long as he could. But there was no getting out of it now.

“Jasper told me my grandpa got buried.”

“That’s right. We buried him partway under that big fallen tree. One of the boys made a cross for the grave.”

“Can I go see it sometime? I’d like to take some flowers.”

“Sure.” But he’d have to make certain she wasn’t seen by the Prescotts, Bull reminded himself. “The house got burned down. But we cleaned the place up nice. The grave looks right peaceful.”

The windmill turned slowly in the silence. “That land where the creek is belonged to my grandpa,” Rose said. “Who does it belong to now?”

Bull had a ready answer. “It’ll be yours when you grow up. But until then we’re taking care of it for you, making sure that nobody else comes and takes it over.”

“Oh.” She sounded a little skeptical, Bull thought. The girl was sharp. Sooner or later there was bound to be a reckoning over that land. But for now, it was legally his, and nothing she could say or do was going to change that.

She might have said more, but just then two large, furry forms came bounding across the yard. The dogs had clearly been on an adventure. They romped closer, ears perked, tongues lolling, coats matted with mud.

“Oh no!” Rose groaned. “They’re filthy! And just smell them!”

Even at the distance of a stone’s throw, the rank odor was unmistakable. No mystery about where the two rascals had been. They smelled like the mucky swamp at the edge of their neighbors’ property a mile to the south. Judging from the foul aroma, the happy pair had rolled and played in the fetid mud and dug up heaven knows what, reveling in the scents they loved.

“They can’t stay like this,” Rose said. “Keep them here while I go for a tub and some soap.”

“Maybe we should just shoot them and dig a hole.” Bull was only half joking. Rose shot him a glare over her shoulder. He sighed and rolled up his sleeves. He’d probably have to burn his clothes afterward, but even he couldn’t let the girl take on this dirty job alone.

After calling the dogs over to the outside tap, he began hosing them down. The well was still flowing, but every drop was precious. He hated wasting water on the blasted animals, but something had to be done.

By the time Rose got back with a bar of soap, a scrubbing brush, and the old tin washtub, Bull had rinsed off the worst of the mud. But the dogs still reeked. They would need a good sudsing and some time in the sun before the stink was gone.

Tethering one dog to the water pipe, they coaxed the other into the tub and began working the soap into its fur. They were just rinsing off the suds, laughing a little and struggling not to inhale too deeply, when a rider appeared, coming from the direction of the Prescott Ranch. Bull’s heart dropped as he recognized the bay mare and the slim, erect figure in the saddle.

It was Susan.

* * *

When she’d mounted up that morning, Susan hadn’t planned a visit to the Rimrock. But as she rode among the pastures and hayfields, emotions churning from the clash with her mother, she’d realized she needed an ally—someone who seemed to see her as she saw herself. She needed Bull Tyler.

But why? What was Bull to her? A friend? But no. Even now, the memory of their torrid kisses stirred dark pools of heat inside her. Bull was not a friend—and not a lover. But he made her feel something she needed to feel again.

Ferg’s stinging revelation that Bull had slept with the sexy brunette waitress—which Bull hadn’t even bothered to deny—had left her stunned and hurt. Now she found herself wondering why. She had no claim on Bull. If her parents were to be believed, he was only guilty of doing what men do. So why should she care so much? Why did she find herself wanting to march up to the woman and slap her face hard enough to leave an ugly bruise?

Was she in love with him?

She was still wrestling with her emotions when she rode into the yard and saw Bull with a young girl and two large, shaggy dogs, one dog in a washtub. Whatever she’d expected to find, this wasn’t it. Maybe she’d come at an awkward time.

She was about to turn the mare and go when Bull looked up and gave her a wave. It was too late to leave. Returning the wave, she rode closer. Now she could see that Bull and the girl were bathing the dogs.

“Do you need any help?” Deciding to be friendly, Susan dismounted, dropped the reins, and walked closer. That was when a nauseating odor stopped her like a wall. “Oh, my heavens!” she murmured.

Bull gave her a grin. He was wet to the skin. His clothes were plastered to his body. His dark hair sparkled with water drops. “You might want to keep your distance,” he said. “These blasted dogs had a little too much fun last night. Rolled in some swamp muck. Sorry about the smell.”

Susan led her horse into the shade of the barn, looped the reins over a hitching rail, and walked back far enough to keep from being splashed. Was Bull glad to see her? She couldn’t be sure. And what was the girl doing here? She looked too young to be anybody’s wife or sweetheart. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” she asked.