Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

Bull shook his head. The old man was dying. All he could do was find out as much as he could before the end. “Who shot you?”

“Ham . . . hurt me bad.” Cletus McAdoo closed his eyes, as if gathering what was left of his strength. “Managed to crawl back inside . . . After Ham rode off, three of his bastards showed up. They would’ve come in, or torched the place, but Rose scared ’em off, shootin’ through the window.” His hand came up and seized Bull’s wrist, his bony fingers like an iron vise. “Get her out . . . they’ll be back. Mustn’t find her here . . .”

Bull glanced at the girl. Rose. The name didn’t suit her. She was more like a tough little weed than a flower. “Do those men know you’re here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Grandpa always made me hide when they came.”

“Did you see the man who shot him?”

She nodded. “He was older, with a mustache and a big belly.

That had been Ham Prescott, all right. Lord, Ham had murdered this old man in cold blood, shot him with his own hands. Then he’d sent his thugs back to clean up the mess.

“Listen . . .” McAdoo pulled Bull down close to him. His whisper was so faint that Bull could barely hear. “When I go, this place is hers . . . Deed’s in a wooden box . . . already signed . . .” He was slipping away. “Keep her safe . . . She’s all I . . . got.”

His eyelids fluttered and closed. His breath eased into silence. The girl’s tears had become quiet sobs.

Knowing what he had to do, Bull covered the old man’s face and drew a deep breath. Whatever happened next had to happen right. He couldn’t be moved by pity or kindness. Everything he did now had to be done for the Rimrock.

“Listen, Rose.” He gripped her shoulders, forcing himself to be gentle. “You’ve got to get out of here. Do you know where the Rimrock Ranch is?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes.

“Here’s what I want you to do. Run out front and get my pistol. Bring it back to me. Then take my horse and ride like hell for the Rimrock. Find Jasper, my foreman—he’ll be tall and thin, maybe driving an old pickup. Tell him everything that happened. Only him. Nobody else. Understand?”

“What about you?”

“When those men come back, I’ll hold them off. With luck, they’ll think your grandfather’s still alive. When it’s safe, I’ll see that he’s buried. Now get going. They could come back anytime.”

“But . . . what about my chickens? I can’t just leave them here.”

“I’ll save your damned chickens.”

“Promise?”

“Hell, yes. Now go.”

She was out the door like a shot, taking only a moment to find Bull’s pistol before she brought it back to him.

“My horse is tied in the willows. He won’t give you any trouble. Now, blast it, girl, get out of here!”

By the time she was out the door, Bull was already taking stock of the place. There were two windows, one on the door side and one on the creek side. Both were protected by drop-down shutters hinged at the top, opening inward. The window in front had a cracked glass pane. The one that faced the creek had none.

No doubt Prescott’s men would be back. Ham would have told them that the old man was wounded. Once they felt confident that he was dead or helpless, they would either cross the creek and ransack the shack for whatever they could find or burn the place to hide all evidence of a crime.

Bull had to hold them off, at least long enough to find the deed and get away.

His .44 was loaded with six bullets, but he’d brought no extra ammo. Six shots wouldn’t last long in a standoff.

However, the old man’s shotgun was a formidable beast of a weapon—a ten-gauge, breech-loaded, double-barrel model capable of blasting a man in two at close range.

The girl had fired one barrel when he’d arrived. Maybe the other one would still be loaded. But no such luck. When Bull thumbed the lever to break open the gun and check the breech, he found both barrels empty. He uttered a foul curse. He should’ve asked young Rose about extra shells. Now, if there were any left, he would have to find them himself.

But first things first. McAdoo’s signed deed could make all the difference for the Rimrock. With that deed in hand—if it proved legal—he would have what he needed to gain access to the water. Find it before Prescott’s thugs showed up, and he could simply take it and leave, without their knowing he’d been there at all. Let them rip the place apart if they chose to. They’d find nothing but the body of the man their boss had killed.

Which made Rose the witness to a murder.

But he’d think about that later. Driven by urgency, he tore into the clutter of the small shack, emptying drawers and cupboards, prying up floorboards, dumping out bins of flour and sugar, even lifting up the mattress where the old man’s body lay. No shotgun shells and no wooden box that might hold the deed.