Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

place.”

“Did anybody look around up there?”

“The sheriff did. So did I. The back slope of the ledge ain’t all that steep. It wouldn’t have been a hard climb. But it’s solid rock up there. No way to see tracks on it.”

“So there’d be no way to tell if somebody pushed him off the top.”

“No way to know if he was pushed, or if he stumbled over, or if . . .” Jasper let the words trail into silence.

A shudder passed through Bull’s body. “You mean, he might’ve jumped? Good Lord, Jasper, was he that bad off?”

Jasper hesitated, his eyes on the road. “Coulda been. But I don’t like to think so. He never gave any sign of it. Just like he never gave up hopin’ you’d come back.”

“My dad wanted me back? After all the hateful things he said to me?”

Jasper nodded. “You were Williston’s only flesh and blood—and all he had left of your mother. That’s why he wouldn’t sell. He was savin’ the ranch for you.”

Bull gazed through the dusty windshield, eyes following the flight of a red-tailed hawk. He swallowed an unaccustomed tightness in his throat. “I’ll take a look at the ranch,” he said. “Then I want you to show me where my father died.”

CHAPTER 2

TWENTY MILES OUT OF BLANCO SPRINGS THE PICKUP SWUNG OFF THE paved highway and onto a rutted dirt road. The tires raised clouds of dust that filtered through the vents and drifted in through the open side windows. Bull could feel the grit when he ran his tongue across his teeth. The beating sun was hotter than a forge, and the old truck had no air-conditioning.

Still at the wheel, Jasper gave him a cheerful grin. “That’s Rimrock dust you’re eatin’. Welcome home, Bull Tyler.”

Bull spat his chew out the window. It was still sinking in that the place was his—every dusty, rocky, snake-infested, mesquite-clogged inch of it. Given the value of ranchland these days, he was a rich man. But nothing above ground looked to be worth fighting for.

As the truck neared the heart of the ranch, he spotted the old wooden windmill that pumped well water to supply the house and the tanks for the stock. Missing several vanes, with others hanging loose, it turned sluggishly in the hot summer breeze. Off to one side sat the house that had been grandly planned but never finished. Its plywood exterior had weathered to match the blowing dust. The corrals were empty, the barn roof sagging. Bull couldn’t see into the machine shed beyond the house, but he’d already guessed that anything usable would’ve been sold.

Jasper cursed as they pulled into the yard and drove up to the house. “Carlos’s car isn’t here. The bastard must’ve given up on us and lit out. Come on, we’ve got to see to the stock. In this heat they could all be dead of thirst by now.”

He flung himself out of the truck and raced for the hose connection next to the barn. Bull sprinted after him, falling into the old routine as if he’d never left. While Jasper cranked on the spigot, Bull followed the long hose line around the barn to where it ended at the horse paddock.

The four horses were on their feet, thank heaven, but their heads were drooping, and the outline of their ribs showed like the tines of a pitchfork through their hides. The grass in their paddock was eaten down to bare dirt, and the watering trough was bone dry.

Bull directed the thin stream of water into the trough. At the sound of it, the horses came shuffling toward him. They were old animals—he’d ridden them all, growing up. There was Bess, the gentle bay mare, Pete, the roan stallion, and the two dun geldings, Cap and Chuck. Bull had long since learned not to show his emotions, but they almost broke his heart.

As the water rose, the horses pushed their way around the trough and lowered their heads to drink. He would need to find them some hay or turn them into fresh pasture. But first he needed to help Jasper see to the cattle.

The cows and spring calves had been herded into the winter pasture to keep them close for feeding. Bull could see Jasper standing over a downed calf. It wasn’t moving, probably dead. And the others looked close to it. He broke into a run, dragging the long hose behind him to fill the three water troughs through the fence.

At the sound of water, the cows and calves moved in, the stronger ones drinking it up almost as soon as it poured out of the hose. Bull kept running water into the troughs until there was enough for all of them. So far they’d lost only one calf, but some of the others looked almost too far gone to survive.

Jupiter, the massive bull, waited at the fence. He was gaunt but still rock solid. Williston Tyler had won the calf in a poker game and raised him to be a giant. He’d long since proven his worth, siring a good crop of calves every season. But unlike most Hereford bulls, a breed that tended to be easygoing, Jupiter was mean to the bone.

Wasted as the huge animal was, the white-rimmed eyes that watched Bull fill his trough gleamed with malevolence. There was good reason for the stout metal fence that confined him to his pasture.

“Damn that Carlos to hell!” Jasper swore as he closed the gate of the cow pasture. “I can’t believe he’d go and leave these animals to die of thirst. If I ever catch up with the bastard—”

He paused to pick up a rock and fling it at a buzzard that had settled on the dead calf. His aim was true. The bird squawked and flapped away. “Nothin’ we can do now except bury the dead one and try to keep the rest of these poor critters alive. Williston sold the backhoe last year, but there should be a couple of shovels in the barn. While you’re getting them, see if there’s any hay. If it’s all gone, one of us will have to make a run to the feed store and load a few bales in the pickup. Hopefully they’ll let us have them on credit.”

“I’ll do it,” Bull said, “after I see how much hay’s left in the barn.”

Leaving Jasper to refill the troughs, Bull sprinted back toward the barn. For now, he willed himself to focus on the task at hand. If he took time to think about what it would take to get the ranch up and running again, the worry would paralyze him.

At times like this, selling out to the Prescotts didn’t strike him as a bad idea.

He remembered Carlos, the longtime ranch cook, who’d promised to stay and take care of the stock. He was a good-hearted old man, not the sort who’d drive off and leave helpless animals to die of thirst. Something about his absence didn’t feel right.