Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

At the cabin, he met the rest of the family—pale Steve who appeared as shy as his brother was confident, and their pretty young women, red-haired Venus and brunette Gypsy, who was visibly pregnant. They all smelled faintly of marijuana, but Bull decided that was none of his business.

“Now that you’ve seen how much work we’ve put in here, I’m hoping you’ll let us stay and help take care of the place,” he said. “Does that sound all right?”

“That depends.” Bull gazed across the expanse of yellow grass, thinking how best to play this to his advantage. “For one thing, I plan to run cattle on this land with my men coming by to check on them. You’d lose the peace and quiet you have now.”

Krishna nodded. “We could live with that. We’d even help keep an eye on the cattle for you. We could fence them out of the house and garden. You wouldn’t have to do a thing.”

Bull glanced at the windmill. “I see you’ve got a well.”

“A small one, just for the house. We borrowed the tools and drilled it ourselves. There’s a bigger well on the far side of the property, but it isn’t working. It probably just needs parts. We could help you fix it and maybe set up an irrigation system. My brother’s a good plumber.”

A well already dug and someone to help fix it. Bull was encouraged so far, but he knew better than to show it. Silent, with his face fixed in a scowl, he waited. He was aware of Steve and the two women listening in the background, probably wondering ho

w soon they’d have to pack up and clear out.

“If you’re thinking about rent money, we don’t have any to spare,” Krishna said. “But we can work for you—we’re good at carpentry and plumbing, even masonry. We can give you the names of people we’ve worked for. You can ask them about us. We could write up a contract that would be fair to both you and us . . .” His voice trailed off as he realized that Bull hadn’t even twitched. “What do you think?” he asked, a quiver of uncertainty in his voice.

“I just might have a little work for you,” Bull said, thinking of the house and what a stroke of luck this could prove to be. “What do you say you and I take a walk and talk about it?”

They spent the next hour walking the acreage, checking the soundness of the fences—mostly put up by neighbors—and inspecting the well, which looked reparable. All in all, the place needed a big investment in time and money to be fully productive. But he could start bringing in his stock as soon as the well was working.

Bull also learned a few things about Krishna, a former high school math teacher who’d grown disillusioned with what he called “the system.” He’d joined up with his brother, Steve, who had some learning disabilities but was good with his hands. They’d searched out a place where they could live with their women in peace and quiet. Bull found himself liking the man, although he would hold back his trust until he knew him better.

They agreed that the brothers would each put in ten hours a week on Bull’s house and property for the privilege of staying on the land. For any time over that, they’d be paid a fair wage. Bull would pay for all needed parts and materials, but Krishna would look for cheap salvaged goods to use where they could.

“We’ll start with the well,” Bull said. “But I’d like you to take a look at my house so we can talk about what needs to be done. I’ll give you directions.”

“No need,” Krishna said. “I know exactly where you live. Come on. I’ll show you something.”

They circled back toward the cabin, following a route that took them along the rim of the caprock. Only as they paused and he looked past the edge did Bull realize that this parcel of land lay directly above his ranch. From where he stood, he could look down into the escarpment, including the petroglyph canyon where his father’s body had been found. Beyond the escarpment and the foothills, shrunk to ant size by distance, was a bird’s-eye view of his house and barn, along with the sheds and corrals. He could even make out Jasper’s truck, parked next to the house.

“When you showed up, I recognized your vehicle,” Krishna said. “As soon as I saw it I knew where you’d come from.” He took a few more steps, then paused. “You’re welcome to join us for lunch. We’re vegetarians, so there’s no meat, but there’s fresh bread, and Venus makes a right tasty lentil soup.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got a busy day ahead of me,” Bull said. “I’ll be back to start on the well pump tomorrow. Once we get it working, you can come take a look at the house.”

“Sounds cool,” Krishna said. “I’ve got a typewriter in the house. I’ll draft two copies of our agreement for us to sign.”

“Sounds like good business.” Bull shook the man’s hand and left.

His spirits rose and soared as he turned off the asphalt and drove down the winding graveled road. He’d grown used to hard times and disappointment. But lately it was as if a lucky star was shining over his head. He’d found the woman of his dreams. She loved him, and they were planning a life together. Now a vital piece of land that could provide water and summer pasture for the ranch had fallen out of nowhere into his hands. On that land, he’d found workers who could finish his house—hopefully for a fraction of what he’d feared it might cost.

Luck could be a fickle bitch. Bull knew that as well as any man. But on a day like this, with the sun bright in the sky and two golden eagles soaring above the caprock, how could he not dream about Susan, the fine ranch they would have and the family they would raise together—a dynasty of strong, proud Tyler men and women to carry their line into the future.

There were bound to be hard times ahead. But nothing would kill that dream, Bull vowed. He would work for it, fight for it, cheat, lie, and even kill for it if he had to. Family and the land—nothing else was important. Nothing else could be allowed to matter—ever.

* * *

The day after Ferg’s father got home from the cattlemen’s meeting, he called Ferg into his office. Ferg never looked forward to these private father-and-son sessions. Once in a while, Ham might have something good to say. But more often than not, Ferg could expect the equivalent of a trip to the woodshed.

“Close the door, boy.” Ham sat like a king on a throne in his massive leather chair, his vast walnut desk shielding him like a fortress. Ferg closed the door and took a seat facing his father. One day that big desk and chair would be his, he reminded himself. Until that day, he had little choice except to endure his father’s bullying and toe the line like a good son.

“You look like hell.” Ham frowned at Ferg’s healing bruises. “What did you do, get into a fight?”

Ferg shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Ham let the comment pass. “So how did you handle being in charge while I was gone?” he asked.

“I handled it fine,” Ferg said. “The best part was scaring the shit out of Bull Tyler. He was working on a plan to steal water out of the creek. Believe me, he won’t try that again. Want me to tell you what I did?”