Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

Purvis’s eyes narrowed behind his thick spectacles. “Are you trying to do my job, young man? Listen, Ferg’s story is that you phoned Ham, lured him to your place, and shot him as he got out of his truck. That’s first-degree murder.”

“Ferg’s lying. I never called anybody. You can check the phone company records.”

“I’ll do that.” Purvis made a note on his yellow legal pad. “The other thing is the gun. The sheriff and his deputies searched every square inch of that yard. There was no sign of any gun, let alone one with Ham’s blood and fingerprints on it.”

The news caught Bull by surprise, touching the place where he felt fear. “I know Ham had a gun,” he said. “It was a small one, in his right hand. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Could Ferg have taken it?”

“If he had, he would’ve kept it to himself. But I don’t think he did. I helped him get Ham into the truck. His hands were in sight the whole time.” Bull shook his head. “Ham was shot mostly on the right side. The gun would’ve flown out of his hand when he was hit.”

“Then why wasn’t it found the next morning when the sheriff showed up?” Purvis stood up and shuffled his papers. “You’d better pray that gun turns up. With it, you’ve got good support for self-defense. Without it—you’re up the creek, my friend.”

CHAPTER 18

THE SUN WAS HIGH AND HOT WHEN SUSAN DROVE HER MUSTANG into the dusty Rimrock yard and pulled up to the house. Dozing in the shade of the porch, the two dogs roused and came bounding out to greet her.

“Whoa . . . Down, boys! Good doggies!” She shooed them away. She liked dogs, but these two furry bundles of mischief were into everything, and they loved collecting dirt and smells on their shaggy coats. If they were hers, she would take them to a groomer and have them washed and clipped. Maybe one day . . .

She began to shake. Only now, as she rooted her feet on Bull’s beloved ranch, did it strike home that he was really gone, and he might not be coming back?

Exhausted after long hours of driving, her body craved rest. But the need to find out more about Bull was even more urgent.

“Hello?” Except for the dogs, the yard was empty. The vanes of the windmill turned lazily in the breeze. Two magpies squawked and scolded from an overhead power line. The two pickup trucks, Bull’s and Jasper’s, were parked nearby. Where was everybody? Rose, at least, should be here.

“Hello?” she called again.

“Howdy, ma’am.” The gangly young cowboy coming around the house startled her. “Jasper asked me to keep an eye out for you. He’ll be along in a bit. Meanwhile, he says you can go inside and help yourself to a cold one.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that.” Susan retrieved her purse from the front seat and her bag from the trunk. She opened the screen door and brought them inside, setting them in the living room. She’d been in the house only once before. Back then, Bull had apologized for its messiness. Now she could see that work was being done. In the kitchen, the flooring, plumbing fixtures, and refrigerator had been replaced, and some of the cabinets had been torn out. When she remembered that Bull had been fixing up the house for her, she almost broke down. But she mustn’t cry. Not yet.

In the refrigerator there was nothing to drink except beer. But at least it was cold. She popped the tab on the can and walked back into the living room. The house was eerily quiet. Had something happened to Rose?

“So you came.” Jasper walked in from the kitchen, his clothes dusty, his face dour. One hand held an open can of Dos Equis. “I was hoping you’d decide against it.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” Susan said. “Thank you for letting me come. I hope I can help in some way.”

Jasper sank into a battered armchair by the old brick fireplace. “There’s not much you can do here except wring your hands and fret. But you’re welcome to stay.”

Susan sank onto the arm of the sofa. “Have you seen Bull since the arrest?”

Jasper shook his head. “Only at the arraignment and bail hearing, and then I couldn’t talk to him. The judge set bail at $300,000. Bull could’ve put up the ranch and made it, but he chose not to do that. He said there’d never been a lien on the Rimrock, and there wouldn’t be one now. Proud cuss, maybe a little crazy in the head, but I understand.”

“I need to see him, Jasper. How do I do that?”

“They’ve got him locked up pretty tight. His lawyer, Ned Purvis, is a good sort. Old geezer, but sharp. If you want to see Bull, your best chance would be to go through him.”

“You’ve got his number?”

“It should be around here somewhere.”

Susan glanced around, still puzzled. “Where’s Rose? Is she all right?”

“She’s fine. She’s . . . gone.” Something about that flicker of hesitation and the look in Jasper’s eyes betrayed the truth. Stunned, Susan stared at him. She recalled the overheard conversation between Bull and Ham, and what Bull had said later about the girl being in danger. Suddenly it all made sense.

“Oh, my God.” She breathed the words, scarcely daring to speak them aloud. “It was Rose who shot Ham, wasn’t it? And Bull’s protecting her. Where is she?”

“Bull hustled her out of the country after the shooting. I’ve got a pretty good idea where he left her, but I won’t say more than that. The sheriff was waiting for him when he got back here. It was Ferg who called the law in and told Mossberg his version of what happened. Don’t ask me if Ferg was lying, or if he really thought Bull killed his dad. I don’t know the answer.”