Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

“Don’t bet your life on that, Ham.” Bull took the check, folded it, and slipped it into his shirt pocket. He’d be using the money to repair the windmill on the caprock property, but Ham didn’t need to know that. “Just keep your boy under control and we’ll get along fine.”

He left Ham’s office without saying g

ood-bye. When he walked out the front door, he found Ferg leaning against the porch rail, his arms folded across his chest. The sight of him, and the thought of what he’d done to Susan, ignited a white-hot rush of fury. But Bull clenched his teeth and held himself in check. He’d resolved not to bring up Susan’s name or say anything about their relationship. He mustn’t even admit to knowing about the rape. For now, that would only make things more difficult for both of them.

“So what did you tell him?” Ferg demanded.

“Nothing he didn’t already know.”

“You didn’t tell him about Cooper?”

The name stopped Bull in his tracks. “I haven’t talked about Cooper in ten years,” he said.

“Tell me the truth, damn you! Did you tell my father what happened to Cooper?” Ferg’s voice shook, his question stirring a memory Bull had done his best to bury. His mind formed the words he’d sworn not to speak.

Bull fingered the small, ridged scar on his left thumb. “We took a blood oath never to tell,” he said. “I take my oaths seriously.”

“So you didn’t tell him? That’s a surprise. I always figured that sooner or later you’d spill that story, you son of a bitch.”

“Damn it, Ferg, it didn’t even cross my mind. I came to get payment for the damage your cattle stampede did to my property. Your father wrote me a check.”

“He wrote you a check? Just like that? Man, he must think you hung the moon. He even told me I should take a page from your book. What did you do to make him say that, kiss his ass?”

“I’m leaving now, Ferg.” Bull headed off the porch, keeping an iron grip on his temper. Pausing on the bottom step, he turned back. “But one last warning. Don’t you ever come onto Rimrock land again. If you do, I’ll make you sorry.”

He’d started for his truck when Ferg called out to him. Bull glanced back over his shoulder.

Ferg’s face wore a grin. “Just wanted you to know I was on the phone with Susan last night. That woman is so hot for me she can hardly stand it. Ever have phone sex? It’s not as good as the real thing, but it ain’t bad. Man, I could hear her comin’ like a steam engine, right over the phone . . .”

“Good-bye, Ferg.” Sick with disgust, Bull walked to his truck and opened the door. Knowing what he knew, Ferg’s taunts came across as pathetic. Since they weren’t true, the sensible thing would be to ignore them. Still . . .

Bull turned around, strode up the porch steps, and gave Ferg a hard left to the solar plexus and a solid right to the middle of his face. The crunch of his fist against Ferg’s flesh felt wonderfully satisfying.

With Ferg fumbling to stanch the flow of blood from his nose, Bull drove away, a taut smile on his face. Ferg had deserved that and more. As for the rest of their exchange, he would never reveal what had happened that day in the escarpment, when a boyhood game of cowboys and outlaws had turned tragic. He hadn’t committed the crime, but he’d witnessed it and helped cover it up. Legally, he was almost as guilty as Ferg. But if the idea that he might talk could serve to keep Ferg in line, he wasn’t above using it as an implied threat.

Right now he had more positive things on his mind. For the present, he would leave the creek property as he’d found it and water the cattle from the bank. The money Ham had paid him would be better spent on the caprock, repairing the windmill and setting up a system to irrigate the grass. With that much done, he could start moving cattle to the caprock pasture and turn Krishna and Steve loose on remodeling the house for Susan.

He was going to need a trailer with a short wheelbase that could negotiate the hairpin turns going up. With luck he could find a used one. He would need to start checking the newspaper ads. The mental list of things to be done stretched before him with no end in sight. But Bull had never felt happier. He had his ranch; he had his woman; and on this bright, sunlit day, nothing seemed impossible.

* * *

Two and a half weeks after the confrontation over the cattle stampede, Ferg was once again called into his father’s office.

“Sit down, boy,” Ham said. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

Ferg sank back into the chair, wondering what the trouble was now. He’d done his best to keep his nose clean, but that was no guarantee of anything.

“This morning I got a call from Reverend Timmons,” Ham said, and Ferg’s heart sank. “Edith is pregnant again. She says you’re the father. Congratulations. At least there’s one thing you seem to manage well enough.”

Ferg stifled a groan. “Isn’t it a little too soon for that?”

“You’re the one who ought to know.” Ham wasn’t smiling. “When she missed her period and started upchucking her breakfast, her mother got suspicious and took her to their doctor. It’s early yet, but he said all the signs were there.”

Ferg sighed. “So how much money does the good reverend want for this one?”

“Don’t look at me to bail you out again,” Ham said. “The last time you knocked that girl up, you were too young to get married. This time, Reverend Timmons is insisting that you make an honest woman of her. Marry her, bring her home, and claim young Garn as your son. For once, I have to say I agree with him.”

“What?” Ferg stared at his father.