Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

It was nearly dawn of the next day when Bull drove the pickup into the ranch yard and pulled up to the house. After more than twenty hours behind the wheel, he was red-eyed, sore, and overdosed on caffeine and chocolate doughnuts. By now the interlude with Susan seemed like the memory of a dream. Bleak reality was the dilapidated ranch house, the drought, the livestock, the lack of money, and dealing with the Prescotts.

Jasper was on the porch drinking coffee, the dogs at his feet. He lowered his cup and came down the steps as Bull hauled himself out of the truck. “So how was Atlanta?”

“Not great. I’ll tell you later.” He knew better than to mention Susan. “Got any more of that coffee?”

“There’s fresh coffee in the kitchen, and Rose is rustlin’ up some ham and eggs. But you look like you could use a few hours of sleep.”

Bull shrugged. “Forget sleep. You can catch me up on things over breakfast. Is Ham back home yet?”

“Not that I’ve heard. And Ferg hasn’t come around, either. Maybe he figures he’s already done enough damage.”

Jasper didn’t know the half of it, Bull thought. Sooner or later he would settle with Ferg—and he wouldn’t go easy on the bastard. “What’s the water tank looking like?” he asked, though he pretty much knew what to expect.

“Like a grave for the steers you shot. Even the pipe’s tore up and broke. We took our stock in to water ’em at the creek like usual. Nobody gave us any trouble then. But there’s nothin’ left of that tank but a godawful mess. Damn Ferg Prescott—but never mind, come on in and eat. We got somethin’ to show you. Somethin’ Rose found.”

Bull trailed Jasper into the kitchen. Rose was tending the electric stove. She gave Bull a quick, impersonal greeting, then went back to scrambling the eggs with a fork, adding a sprinkle of grated cheddar. She hadn’t forgiven him, Bull surmised. But at least the girl hadn’t run away.

“Sit down, I’ll get you some coffee.” Jasper filled a mug and set it at Bull’s place. Bull took a sip. It was hot and strong enough to jar his senses fully awake.

“So what is it you’ve got to show me?” he asked.

“Hang on, I’ll get it.” Jasper strode down the hall to the office and came back holding a dusty Muriel Cigars box, bound with a rubber band. “Rose found this under your dad’s old bed when she was settin’ a mousetrap. Here.” He set the box on the table. “Take a look inside.”

Bull peeled off the rubber band and lifted the lid. Inside was a clumsily folded, dirt-smudged sheet of business stock paper. Unfolding it, he stared. His pulse slammed. “Is this what I think it is?”

“If you think it’s the deed to some property, I’d say we have the same idea. You know, your dad played a lot of poker. And he was pretty good at winnin’. That’s how he got old Jupiter, our prize bull that you had to shoot because of some damn fool girl.”

“Don’t remind me,” Bull said. “So what do you know about this piece of paper?”

“Not much. We only just found it a couple days ago. But seein’ the name on it—Sam Perkins, who signed it over to your dad—got me thinkin’ about something that happened a few years ago. I remember Williston came home from a game about three in the morning. The next day, Sam was out here, poundin’ on the door, claimin’ that Williston had got him drunk and cheated him out of the deed he’d put on the table. He wanted the deed back.

“Williston said he’d done no such thing, that he didn’t have the deed, and that Sam had probably been too drunk to remember what had happened to it. Sam went stormin’ off and we never heard anything else. He died just a few months after your dad did.”

Bull shook his head. “So my dad cheated at poker and stole the deed! Lord, I didn’t know the old scoundrel had it in him!”

“I’m guessing that’s what happened,” Jasper said. “Williston couldn’t record the deed and claim the property because then Sam would know what he’d done. So he just hid it—maybe even forgot about it toward the end, when he was so sick.”

Bull studied the deed. It looked authentic. And the property could be valuable. Why else would his father have cheated a friend to get it?

“All I see here is the legal description,” he said. “It’s nothing but letters and numbers. Do you have any idea where this property is?”

“Not a clue. You’ll have to take it to the county recorder’s office.”

“I’ll do that today, as soon as they open.”

“First you’d better get some breakfast in your belly and some decent sleep, or you’re liable to roll your truck in the bar ditch.” Jasper slid a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Bull. “That deed’s waited this long. It can wait a little longer.”

* * *

At ten o’clock, shaved, showered, and barely rested, Bull was waiting when the recorder’s office opened. The clerk on duty, a young man, was new and didn’t seem to know him—all to the good.

“I want to register this deed to the Rimrock

Ranch,” he said. “But first, can you show me where the property is?”

“You don’t know?” The young man stared at Bull from behind his horn-rimmed spectacles.

“This deed was with my late father’s papers,” Bull said. “It’s all the information I have.”