Texas Tough (The Tylers of Texas 2)

“Hear me out, Will.” Beau stood his ground. “I said I’d give ranch life a try. But things haven’t worked out between you and me, and it’ll be even more of a trial to keep you happy after Natalie and I get married and the baby comes. Natalie’s found a young vet, a family man, who’ll lease her house and clinic and take over her practice. And I’ve accepted an offer from the DEA. I get my old job back at a higher salary starting September first.”

There was dead silence around the table. Will’s taut voice broke it. “You know the terms of Dad’s will. If you leave, your share of the ranch drops to twenty-five percent.”

“I’m aware of that,” Beau said. “And I’ll get along fine on whatever’s left to me. Believe me, twenty-five percent of this place isn’t worth my sanity, or my family’s future.”

“What about Natalie?” Will argued. “She’s built up her practice here.”

Beau’s hand moved to Natalie’s shoulder. “We’ve talked about this. There are plenty of animals around DC, including horses. When Natalie’s ready, she’ll have no trouble finding work. Meanwhile, she can focus on resting, getting ready for the baby, and being a mother.”

Will was silent, but Lauren could sense the explosion building. Erin was close to tears. Lauren knew Will’s daughter had been excited about having her new little cousin close by. Tori looked stricken. Surely Natalie would have shared this news ahead of time, but it didn’t appear that way.

Will stood, quivering with anger too long held back. “Dammit, Beau, I need you! The ranch needs you! You can’t just stomp the dust off your feet and walk away while we’re going through a bad time. Who am I supposed to get to take your place?”

Beau’s reply was glacial. “Get anybody you want. With you around to boss them like you did me, half the cowboys on the ranch could do my job. Flip a coin. Draw straws. I don’t care.”

Lauren glanced at Sky. Seen in profile, his face revealed nothing. But he had to be hurting. This was his flesh-and-blood family falling apart, and he had no right to interfere. She ached for him.

Will glared down the table at his brother. “This has always been your way, hasn’t it, Beau? When things get tough you walk away, just like you did eleven years ago. Dad never let on how much you hurt him, but I could tell. For all his rough ways, he loved you—maybe because you were the most like our mother. But you didn’t care. All you could think about was yourself—and you haven’t changed.”

“Say anything you want to, Will.” Beau’s voice was strained tight. “I’m staying until the wedding to help you out—that gives you almost a month to replace me. But you’re not going to change my mind.”

“Fine,” Will snapped. “Do whatever you want. You always have.” He took a step toward the front door. “I’ve got work to do. If anybody needs me, I’ll be up on the caprock with the cattle.”

He stalked outside, slamming the front door behind him. Seconds later his pickup roared away from the house.

The stunned silence hanging over the table was broken when Erin burst into tears.

Stella sat alone at the bar in the Blue Coyote, smoking a cigarette and reading the Sunday paper—a day late since it was Monday, but what did it matter? The bar wasn’t set to open for more than an hour, but today she had plans to carry out. She would need to make sure everything went down as it should. Split-second timing would be critical.

But it was early yet. For now she could relax a little and fortify her nerves for what lay ahead. After taking a drag on the cigarette, she blew a smoke ring and opened the newspaper to the obituaries.

The front page story about Garn Prescott’s death had come out a couple of days earlier. Heart attack. Who would’ve guessed fate would play into her hands that way? She’d told him to watch his blood pressure, but the strain of having his dirty little secrets aired in public must’ve been too much. Too bad. She’d had big plans for the man before he let her down. But at least his fate would be an example to others. Nobody, not even a U.S. congressman, crossed Stella Rawlins and got away with it.

Today the news about Prescott had faded to a notice of his funeral service, to be held at ten o’clock on Monday—that was today—at the Worthington Hills Mortuary in Lubbock. Burial to follow in the family plot on the Prescott Ranch.

By now the service would probably be over, the procession headed back to Prescott’s ranch. Not that Stella had planned to go—although it might have been interesting to see how many people had the guts to show up after the scandal. Would the governor have been there, or any of Prescott’s colleagues in Congress? Would the governor’s smarmy stepson, Josh Hardesty, have shown up to console Prescott’s red-haired princess daughter?

The spectacle—or lack of it—would have been interesting, Stella thought. Too bad she couldn’t have been a fly on the wall. But never mind. She had other fish to fry.

One of those fish was Marie Fletcher.

Stella had been on the fence about Marie since that fiasco with Prescott’s Cadillac. True, the mistake hadn’t been entirely her fault. But a professional would’ve made sure Prescott’s daughter was dead and erased every trace of evidence at the scene, something Marie hadn’t done. And Marie had seemed almost too eager to make amends. Stella’s gut instincts had hinted that something wasn’t right.

On Friday Abner had called her from his conference in Austin. His news had confirmed her worst suspicions. The Tylers had solid evidence that Marie had shot that old man on their ranch, and they were pretty sure she’d also killed her own brother—the crime she’d pinned on poor Nicky. Even more dangerous for Stella, they’d found tracks and a lighter that could tie Marie to the wreck that had nearly killed Garn Prescott’s daughter.

“Just wanted to give you a heads-up, Stella,” Abner had said. “I’ll be meeting with the county commissioners Monday morning to report on the conference. After that, I’ll be coming around with my deputies to arrest Marie for attempted murder.”

And Marie would sing her lying little heart out.

Something had to be done. Abner was a good source of information, and she knew he’d warned her for a reason. But Stella could hardly ask him to get rid of Marie. She’d needed the job done soon, and she’d needed it done right. That had meant calling her Dallas connection and paying the price for a good professional hit man.

The man she’d hired was in place now, waiting by the road out of town. Hearing footsteps overhead, Stella picked up her cell phone and made a quick call. “It shouldn’t be long. I’ll phone you when she’s on the move.”

“Fine.” The word was followed by a click as the man on the phone ended the call. His voice sounded foreign, but Stella couldn’t be sure. She’d never met the man face-to-face. Everything had been arranged through his boss—half the payment made by electronic transfer, the other half to be sent when the job was done.

Pulse racing, Stella finished her cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray. She missed the old days when Hoyt Axelrod would’ve taken care of a problem like this. But then Hoyt had become the problem. At least this way was simpler and safer.

She was still reading the paper, or at least pretending to, when Marie came downstairs to use the restroom. A few minutes later Marie came out, still barefoot and wearing the dingy gray tee she used for a nightgown. As she headed back toward the stairs, Stella spoke.