Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

The rabbit skin had come from under the porch—a natural place for storing treasures like sticks, bones, and whatever else might catch a dog’s fancy. Susan’s heart began to pound. Scarcely daring to hope, she rose, then walked down the steps and around to the side of the porch, where she crouched to peer into the low space beneath.

It was dark under the porch, the smell mildly repulsive. Fingers of light, falling between the boards above, outlined a clutter of odds and ends. No way was she going to reach under there and feel around with her bare hand. Pushing to her feet, she hurried into the house to put on her shoes and get a flashlight.

The light helped some. By shining it at different angles, she could make out several bones, a well-chewed sock, a shed snakeskin, and an old leather strap. A desiccated bird lay within easy reach. So far, no gun.

She could always get a rake and pull everything out into the open, but even then the gun might not be there. Maybe Ferg had taken it after all—in which case it would never see daylight again and perhaps neither would Bull.

She was weighing her choices when suddenly she saw it. Half buried in the dirt was the dark metal grip of what appeared to be a small pistol. Pulse racing, she reached for it, then checked herself. The location of the gun was important, as were any prints that might be on the weapon. As vital evidence, it would have to be properly handled.

She was eager to give Jasper the news. But first she needed to go into the house and phone Ned Purvis.

The lawyer picked up on the first ring. “Don’t touch a thing,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”

When Purvis’s vintage station wagon screeched to a stop in the yard, Jasper and Susan were waiting for him. They’d shut the dogs in the barn to keep them from getting in the way.

Purvis had come well prepared. First he used a Polaroid camera to take a picture of the house front with the porch. Then he had Susan hold the light while he photographed the gun in place. “I don’t want the prosecution to have any doubt where we found this,” he said.

“Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?” Susan asked.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Purvis gave her a grin. “Back in the day, I used to be a big-city cop. After a few years my wife and I got tired of the stress, so I earned my law degree and we moved to the country. No regrets. But I do enjoy dusting off my old skills now and then.”

He used tongs to reach under the porch, lift the gun out of the dirt, and drop it in an evidence bag, after which he took another photo. He studied the pistol, which was caked with dirt and what looked like more dried blood. “A Beretta three-eighty,” he said. “That sounds about right. Looks like it’s taken a beating—even got tire prints on it. My guess would be that it fell out of Ham Prescott’s hand when the blast hit him. When Ferg turned the truck around to leave, or maybe when Bull drove off with the girl, it got run over and pushed into the dirt, where one of the dogs dug it up the next morning.”

Susan’s heart sank as she saw the small gun. “It’s a mess,” she said. “How can you find any prints on it now?”

“Not to worry,” Purvis said. “If Ham loaded the gun, there should be prints on the magazine and the ammo inside. And the blood traces can be matched to type, at least. Just to be sure, I’ll snip off that bit of blood you found on the dog. Then everything can be logged into evidence.”

They walked to the barn to collect the sample and let the dogs out. By now Jasper had gone back to work.

“So, have you made any plans?” Purvis asked her.

Susan shook her head. “I’m still at square one. Jasper says I’m welcome to stay, but if Bull doesn’t want me here, I need to be gone.”

“You know that Bull’s been under a lot of strain.”

“Of course I do. But that doesn’t mean I can ignore it when he says he doesn’t want me.”

“You need to understand something,” Purvis said. “When a good man, especially a man as proud as Bull, has his back to the wall, his first concern is protecting the people he loves. That’s what Bull is doing. He’s protecting you from shame and hurt and disappointment—from danger, too. He knows that if he’s in prison and Ferg decides to go after you, there’ll be nothing he can do.”

“But won’t finding Ham’s gun be enough to clear him?”

“Let’s hope so, but the legal system can take unexpected twists and turns. Even if Bull goes free, he’ll always be known as the man who killed Ham Prescott. There will always be people who’ll believe he’s a murderer. If you’re married to him, you and your children will be tarred with the same brush. He wants to spare you that.”

Susan sighed. That was Bull, all right. Proud and protective to a fault. The worst of it was, she loved him for it.

“Bull’s the only man I’ve ever wanted to be with,” she said. “How can I convince him that he’s wrong?”

“I don’t know that you can. Bull has to convince himself of that.”

They went into the barn, and Susan held the dog while Purvis snipped off the dried blood and bagged it. Letting both dogs out, they walked back into the sunshine.

“I have a suggestion for you,” he said. “With my daughters gone, the whole second floor of my house is empty. You’re welcome to stay there. In return for a little light housekeeping and office work, you’d have your own room with your own bath. And you’d be close by for Bull, when he comes to his senses.”

“You said when. Do you think he ever will?”

“He’d be crazy if he didn’t. My wife and I had a wonderful marriage. I could wish nothing better than the same for you two. So what do you say? Do you want to come on board?”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you so much.”