Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

“The truck’s got a reclining seat. I’ll put it down.” Ferg was calm and cooperative, the only way to be at a time like this. He could—and would—deal with Bull later.

When the seat was down, they eased Ham onto a bedsheet, picked it up from both ends, like a hammock, and hoisted him into the cab of the truck. The pain had to be excruciating. Ham groaned and swore as they moved him. But he was a tough old man and even he knew it had to be done.

“You’ll want to call a doctor,” Bull said. “At least he can give your father some morphine for the pain.”

“I’ll do that when I get him home.” Ferg closed the passenger door and climbed into the driver’s side. “This isn’t over, Bull. Believe me, somebody’s going to pay.”

He switched on the headlights, started the truck, turned it around in a slow circle, and headed back along the road to the Prescott Ranch. Out of Bull’s sight, Ferg pulled off the road and stopped the truck under a cottonwood tree. He had to have this conversation before it was too late.

He turned in the seat. The truck was in shadow, but a thin shaft of moonlight, shining through the branches of the cottonwood, fell on his father’s contorted face.

“Why the hell are we . . . stopping?” Ham’s voice was a breathy whisper, each word forced from a well of pain.

“Maybe because we need to talk,” Ferg said. “And maybe because you always said you wanted to die with your boots on.”

Ham’s eyes widened. “Hell . . . I’m not gonna die . . . Get me to a doc . . . patch me up good as new.”

“We’ll see,” Ferg said. “First tell me who shot you. Was it Bull?”

Ham’s head barely moved from side to side. “Not Bull . . . The girl. That little bitch . . . Came out with that gun, bigger’n she was . . .” His left hand moved past the gears to clutch at Ferg’s sleeve, the fingers gripping like talons. “You get her, boy . . . Make her pay.”

“I will. And Bull, too. That bastard’s going to wish he’d never been born.”

“That’s my boy . . .” Ham’s voice was getting weaker. “Now start this damn truck and get me home.”

Ferg shook his head. “You’re not going to make it home alive. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t save you now. And that’s fine by me. I’ve had enough of taking your shit, old man. Nothing I did was ever good enough for you. But that’s over. I’m the boss now. You’re done for, and the ranch is mine.”

Ham stared at his son in sudden, awful comprehension. But Ferg wasn’t finished with him.

“I’ve got a confession to send you off,” he said. “It’s about Cooper. He never was much of a little brother, being slow in the head and all. Well, he wasn’t kidnapped by Mexicans, like we told you. He was hanged. Me and Bull, we were playing cowboys. Cooper was the bad guy. I put a rope around his little neck and hanged him till he died. Then we took him and threw him down that rattlesnake hole on the Tyler property. He’s still there. Think about that on your way to hell.”

Ham’s lips moved in a silent curse. Then the breath rattled in his throat and his eyelids closed for the last time.

CHAPTER 17

AS FERG’S TRUCK VANISHED DOWN THE DARK ROAD, BULL STRODE into the house. “Get your things together!” he ordered Rose. “Hurry! We’ve got to get you out of here!”

Rose obeyed him without question. But Bull could tell she was still grappling with reality. A simple movement of her finger had sent a deadly charge ripping into a man’s body, most likely ending his life. It was a lot for a young girl to comprehend.

Jasper burst in through the kitchen door. “I heard the shotgun. What the hell happened?”

“Ham came after Rose and got himself blasted, probably to kingdom come,” Bull said. “Ferg took him away. I’ve got to get Rose somewhere safe.”

“Rose shot Ham?” Jasper looked stunned.

“Since you’ll no doubt be asked, the less I tell you the better. I should be back tomorrow night or the next morning. If you don’t know where I’m going, you won’t have to lie.”

“Fine.” Jasper knew enough to keep his mouth shut.

“What about the cattle?”

“Luckily it was a small caliber weapon—I’m guessing a P32. Half a dozen wounded. A couple of steers will have to be put down. The rest can be patched up with tape and sulfa powder.”

“Any idea who did the shooting?”

“Had to be one of the Prescott gang. Whoever it was, the son of a bitch was gone by the time we got there.”

“Damn.” Bull shook his head. “We