Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

“Your dad’s gone, Virgil. He passed away two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks.” A strange numbness was setting in. Two weeks? “What the hell happened? Was he sick?”

Jasper shook his head. “His horse came home late one mornin’ with an empty saddle. Carlos and I went out lookin’ for him, but it was almost sunset before we saw the buzzards and followed ’em. We found him in the escarpment at the bottom of a cliff. I’ll spare you the details, but it looked like he fell off the top.”

“That doesn’t make sense. My dad knew every inch of those canyons. He would never have wandered up there and fallen off a cliff.”

“It didn’t make sense to us, neither. But since he wasn’t shot or stabbed or anything like that, the sheriff called it an accident. We put him in the ground next to your ma.”

Virgil’s jaw tightened as the news sank in. Williston Tyler had been a miserable son of a bitch who took out his failures on his motherless son. Virgil’s last words to him had been, “Go to hell!” Now Virgil didn’t know what to feel. Grief, anger, and numb indifference warred inside him.

“The Rimrock is yours now,” Jasper said. “It’s in a pretty sorry state, but your dad left the land free and clear—not a cent owed on it.”

Virgil had given little thought to the ranch—two-thousand-some-odd acres of scrub below the caprock escarpment that separated the rolling hill country from the high, flat Texas plain. His memories of the place were mostly bad—drought, mesquite thickets, rattlesnakes, coyotes, and skinny cattle that were always getting lost. He’d spent his childhood riding herd, eating dust, and growing up with a father who’d never forgiven him for being born and causing the death of the wife he’d loved.

He’d have to be crazy to go back there.

“The Prescotts have been itchin’ to add the land to their big spread,” Jasper said. “I can’t tell you how many offers they made your dad over the years, but even when he was as poor as Job’s mule, he always turned ’em down. Now that you’re in charge, you’ll no doubt be hearin’ from ’em.”

“How much do you figure the ranch is worth, Jasper?” Virgil asked, thinking of all he could do with the money if he sold out to their wealthy neighbors.

Jasper scowled. “I reckon that’s up to you. But remember what your dad always said. ‘Trust a skunk before a rattler, and trust a rattler before a Prescott.’ ”

“I know what he said. But I sure as hell could use the cash.”

“Money goes, boy. Land is forever, and there’s only so much of it on this earth. That’s another thing your dad used to say. That ranch is your legacy, boy. Think long and hard before you let it go for a stack of paper that’ll be spent and gone afore you know it—especially if you’re dealin’ with the Prescotts. Those rich buzzards will take one look at you and see fresh meat. If you let ’em, they’ll strip you to the bone and pick you clean.”

Jasper glanced at his battered Timex wristwatch. “The day’s gettin’ on. I didn’t come all this way to talk to you. I came to fetch you home.” He fished a ring of keys out of his pocket, took a few steps, and glanced back over his shoulder. “Well, are you comin’ or ain’t you?”

Virgil sighed. He’d sworn he would never set foot on that ranch again. But now that the place was his, he had little choice. One way or another, he needed to settle his father’s unfinished business. “I’m coming,” he said, spitting his chew in the dirt. “Just let me pick up my prize money and get my gear.”

There wouldn’t be much money to collect, or much gear to haul away. The rusty, old pickup he’d driven here had blown a head gasket and wasn’t worth fixing. Aside from that, and his modest savings account in the First Texas Bank, all he owned was a bedroll and a duffel with a shaving kit and a few changes of clothes.

Walking to the office to pick up the few hundred dollars he’d earned, he met Tex Holden, the cowboy who’d ridden just before him, coming the other way.

“Sorry about that last ride, Tex,” he said. “Bum luck.”

“It happens. At least I made it off the critter in one piece.” Tex gave him a good-natured grin. “Will we be seein’ you in Abilene?”

“Not this time.” Virgil shook his head. “I’m headin’ out. Got word my dad died, so I’ll have business at home to take care of.”

“Sorry about your dad,” Tex said. “But I’ll wish you good luck, all the same. See you around, Bull.” He ambled off toward his truck.

“Bull?” Jasper had been close enough to hear.

“It’s a nickname. That’s what they call me these days,” Virgil said.

“Bull Tyler . . .” Jasper rolled the name around on his tongue, trying it out. “Sounds like somebody you wouldn’t want to mess with. I kinda like it.”

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Me too.”

* * *

They’d eaten dinner in Pecos and spelled each other driving for the rest of the night. By the time they pulled into the small town of Blanco Springs, the morning sun had cleared the caprock escarpment, which rose above the ranchland in a labyrinth of cliffs, turrets, and deep, shadowed canyons.

Above and to the east of the escarpment the land leveled off to a high plain so vast and flat that the early Spaniards who rode across it had driven stakes in the ground to mark their path and keep from getting lost. They had named it the Llano Estacado, the staked plain. Three centuries later, in the canyons below, t

he Comanche nation had made a last bloody stand against the invading whites, who slaughtered their horses by the hundreds to make sure the tribe would never ride to war again.