Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Bull used a wrench to tighten the bolts on a steel cross brace. The sun was blistering hot, the task seemingly endless. If he’d known how much time the new windmill tower was going to take, or how much work it was going to involve, he would have gladly forked over the extra money for a crew to erect the structure in a day or two. As it was, he’d been at it for more than a week. Working day and night, grabbing sleep and food as he could. The boys, Chester and Patrick, helped when he needed them, but much of their time was spent taking care of the stock.

Because the old windmill was still needed, the new structure had to be assembled next to it. When it was ready, the old tower would be taken down, the new one raised and moved over the well, anchored in the ground, and rigged with the pump. If everything went as it should, the new windmill would supply good water to the house and stock tanks through the next generation.

If everything went as it should.

The worry gnawed at Bull’s gut. Every day the flow of water from the pump seemed weaker. Was it because of the ramshackle w

indmill or, as the water table shrank in the long drought, was the well that had sustained the ranch for as long as he could remember finally going dry?

He wouldn’t know for sure until the new windmill was in place and working. But he’d already decided to anchor the legs in the ground with gravel instead of concrete—less stable, but essential if the costly structure had to be moved.

He reached for another cross brace, fitted it into place, and took another bolt out of the tool pouch at his belt. After weighing the options, he’d decided to assemble the tower on the ground, then raise it into place with ropes—safer and faster for a man working alone. He could only hope it would be strong enough to hold up to the pulling and shifting it would take to get it into place.

Sweat soaked his shirt and trickled from under his hat to form salty rivulets down his face. Hell, he barely had an idea of what he was doing. He was winging it from one day to the next, the work, the money, the stock . . .

When he could manage to sleep, he had nightmares about everything going wrong at once. He would wake from those black dreams in a cold sweat, pull himself together, and get back to work.

What he wouldn’t give to have Jasper here. But Jasper, by now, would be settling down to a peaceful life in the hill country, with Sally, his lifelong sweetheart. Bull could only wish them the happiness they deserved.

He was bending down to tighten one more bolt when the snort of a horse startled him. Reflexively, he reached for the loaded .44 at his hip, but then he saw that it was Susan, riding across the ranch yard on a fine bay mare.

“Hellfire, I could’ve shot you.” He wiped the hair out of his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I had some time on my hands, so I thought I’d pay you a visit.” She was dressed in a light denim shirt, with faded jeans and pricey-looking boots. A battered hat, likely borrowed, shaded her face. The diamond on her finger flashed in the glaring sun.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” he asked, knowing he shouldn’t be glad to see her, and angry at himself that he was.

“He’s at a horse auction in Wichita Falls, with my father and Uncle Ham.” She swung off the horse, dropped the reins, and came to his side. “I see you’re busy. Can I help you?”

“This isn’t what you’d call woman’s work. It’s dirty and hot and miserable.”

“I know. But I can hand you things. Just ask me.” She moved an empty wooden crate closer and sat on it.

“Fine. Hand me that small socket wrench, the one by your foot.”

She handed him the tool. “I can’t believe you’re doing all this by yourself,” she said.

“Neither can I.” He used the wrench to tighten a nut. “What are you doing here, Susan?”

“Nothing much. I was alone, and I got to thinking that I’d never seen your ranch by daylight.”

“Well, you’re seeing it.” Bull gave the nut an extra twist. “Not much to look at, is there?”

“I wouldn’t say that. It’s got lots of . . . potential.”

“You see potential. I see money I don’t have and years of gut-busting work to turn this ranch into something a man can be proud of.”

“And I see a man—a very dirty, sweaty man—who’ll do what he sets out to do, no matter how hard it is. That’s a compliment, in case you’re wondering.”

“I’ll take dirty and sweaty. Not so sure about the rest.” Bull glanced around for the boys, then remembered he’d sent them into town with a grocery list and told them to take their time. “Hand me that brace—the longest one.”

She passed the brace to him and watched while he bolted both ends to the frame. He could smell her perfume, a scent that was light but, on her, strangely seductive. Her denim shirt was open past the second button, showing the barest hint of cleavage. Bull tried not to remember how it had felt to kiss her.

“You don’t think much of me, do you?” Her question startled him. He looked up, catching the flash of vulnerability in her silvery eyes.

“What I think of you doesn’t matter,” he said. “But for what it’s worth, I think you’re selling yourself short. You deserve somebody better than Ferg.”

“Like you?” She raised one eyebrow. Bull could only surmise that she was teasing him.”