Bull shook his head. “For one thing, we’d have no place for all that water to go, especially since the land beyond our property is open range. For another thing, it would only cause trouble between us and your ranch. We don’t want a water war. We just want what we can use.”
“Then why do all that digging at night?”
Bull shrugged. “Why not? We don’t have to put up with the hot sun or take time away from the cattle. And the moon and stars give us enough light to work. As for diverting the creek, look at your ranch. You divert the water all over the place—to your hayfields, to your watering tanks, anywhere you need it. By the time the stream gets to the end of your property there’s no water left. We won’t be using a hundredth of that. So go on home, tell your father exactly what we mean to do, and tell him he’s welcome to come see it for himself.”
“I’ll do just that when he gets back from Fort Worth next Wednesday. But he’s not gonna like it.”
Bull had wondered how much Ferg knew about the murder and the deal Ham had made. Not much, he concluded—otherwise Ferg would’ve let something slip by now. And it did make sense that Ham would protect his son against any involvement in the crime and its cover-up.
“If Ham doesn’t like it, that’s his problem. So run along home now. When he gets back, tell him what I said.” Bull turned toward the porch, hoping Ferg would leave. But the other man stepped back and planted himself against the side of his car as if he meant to stay all morning.
“I got a letter from Susan.” The words stung like a razor slash across Bull’s face. “She told me she’d left because she needed a break. But now that she’s had time to think, she wants to be engaged again. I knew she’d come around, especially after that hot farewell in the stable. You can’t fake something that real.”
Bull could only stare, his emotions too raw to hide.
“She was unbelievable,” Ferg said. “I’d meant to wait till our wedding night, but she wanted it right then and there, flat on her back in the straw. She didn’t even want me to wear a rubber—wanted to feel it skin to skin. I’m tellin’ you, man, when a woman gives you her virginity, it’s something to re—”
Bull’s fist slammed into Ferg’s jaw. Driven by pain and fury, the punch crunched bone and knocked Ferg back over the hood of the car.
Ferg, a seasoned brawler, recovered fast. In an instant he was up and swinging. His knuckles cracked against Bull’s cheekbone. Bull, in his murderous rage, barely felt it. He waded in close, hate driving every blow he landed, bruising and bloodying the man who’d claimed the woman he loved.
They traded punch for fury-driven punch, lunging, hammering. Kicking and head-butting. Bull slugged Ferg’s mouth and felt a tooth give way. Ferg caught Bull’s eye with a sharp left hook that shot arrows of pain through his head. Bull reeled, caught himself, and charged his enemy again, wanting nothing more than to tear Ferg apart and leave him bleeding in the dust.
A gunshot shattered the air, the sound freezing both men in mid-motion. Startled, they turned and stared. Rose stood on the porch, Bull’s .44 gripped between her hands.
“Stop it! Both of you!” she shouted. “Break it up, before I’m tempted to shoot lower!”
Ferg staggered back against the car, a smirk on his battered face. “Well, how about that,” he said. “Bull’s got himself a feisty little live-in honey. Kinda young, but not bad lookin’, even with that ugly mark on her face. Wait till I tell Susan!”
Bull checked the impulse to leap for his throat. The fight was over—for now, at least. “She’s not my little honey, Ferg,” he said. “She’s Jasper’s niece, who’s here to stay with him. So take your dirty mind and get out of here.”
Grinning, Ferg picked up his dusty hat, climbed into the red convertible, and drove away. Bull stood looking after him, his gut churning. Was it true? Could Susan have promised to wait for him, then gone right back to the barn and had sex with Ferg? He didn’t want to believe it. But the doubt was there, eating at him and growing—fed by the fact that he hadn’t heard from her in weeks.
He loved Susan, but how well did he really know her? Not as well as Ferg did, that was for sure. She and Ferg had shared family. They’d grown up knowing each other. Why wouldn’t she decide to marry him instead of some dirt-poor rancher she barely knew?
The question was tearing him apart. But as he turned around and saw Rose on the porch, Bull realized he had even more urgent concerns than Susan.
Ferg had seen Rose. And once Ham got home and heard about the girl at the Tyler place, the wily old man would have little trouble seeing through the fake story and guessing that she was the unknown witness to his crime.
When that happened, not only would Rose’s life be in danger but Bull’s truce with Ham would be over. Once the girl was out of the way, the Prescotts could—and would—wipe him out.
That afternoon, Jasper showed up, hot and dusty after hours on the range. “You look like hell,” he said.
Bull told him what had happened. Jasper shook his head.
“I told you that Rutledge girl was bad news. Sorry you had to learn the hard way.”
“It’s Rose I’m worried about now,” Bull said. “We need to decide what to do.”
“You’re sure Ferg’s been kept in the dark?”
“Pretty sure. If he’d known about his father and the witness, he would’ve shown some sign of it. Ferg isn’t that cool.”
“From the looks of things, I’d say neither are you.” Jasper’s gaze took in Bull’s swollen black eye and bruised face. “You say Ham’s out of town till next week
?”
“That’s what Ferg said. There’s always a chance he’ll forget to tell his father about Rose, or that Ham won’t make the connection. But we can’t count on that.”