“Visitor to see you, Tyler.” The guard that stopped by Bull’s cell was holding a set of handcuffs. Rising, Bull submitted to having his wrists cuffed before being led down the hall to the interrogation room, which doubled as a space for private consultations between inmates and their lawyers.
Lord, how he hated this!
His visitor would be Ned Purvis, who’d promised to come by for an update. As far as Bull knew, the old man was doing a decent job. But why did the process have to take so long? The thought of this ordeal dragging on for weeks, months, even years, while he rotted away in a cell, made him sick to his stomach.
Even so, he kept his head high and his gaze defiant as he prepared to walk into the room. Nobody—not the sheriff, not the guards, not his lawyer or the court—was going to see him crack.
The door opened. Bull stepped inside ahead of the guard—and almost lost control as Susan broke away from Purvis and ran to him. Before anyone could stop her, she flung her arms around him, holding him painfully tight. With his wrists cuffed in front, he could only stand still and feel her trembling against him.
“Back off, miss,” the guard said. “I can’t leave until he’s cuffed to the table.”
Reluctantly, she backed away. Bull could see that she was struggling not to weep. She knew he would want her to be strong. He loved her for that.
She was dressed simply in jeans and a denim shirt, her golden hair falling in waves around her face. She looked so beautiful that it almost broke his heart.
Accustomed to the routine, he let the guard lead him to the far side of the table and run the chain between his cuffed wrists. He could tell by the look in her eyes that his own appearance dismayed her. With his rumpled, ill-fitting jumpsuit, unshaven beard stubble, disheveled hair, and bloodshot eyes, he looked every inch the prisoner that he was. And seeing him chained, he knew, had to nearly destroy her.
He waited until the guard had left, locking the door behind him, before he spoke.
“What are you doing here, Susan?”
She took the single chair across from him. “I came to be here for you—to help in any way that I can.”
“This mess is none of your damned business,” he said. “And there’s no way you can help. Go home to Georgia. Get back to your life. That’s the best thing you can do for me.”
Her silver eyes seemed to darken. She rose to her feet, quivering. “Bull Tyler, you’re the proudest, most stubborn, most maddening person I’ve ever known. It would serve you right if I walked out of your miserable life for good! But I’m not going to. I’m going to stay here and fight for you, all the way! I’ll find that missing gun, or harass Ferg until he breaks, or do whatever I have to. I’m not giving up on you—ever! Understand?”
As Bull sat stunned, a patter of applause came from the corner of the room. Bull had almost forgotten that his lawyer was still here. “Bravo,” said Ned Purvis. “Bull, you’ve got a tigress on your team! Stop being so damned noble. Let her give it a shot.”
“Listen to him, Bull,” Susan said. “If I give up and go home, it will be my decision, not yours. But I’ve no intention of leaving. I’m staying in this fight until we win.”
Bull gazed at her across the table, his throat too tight to speak. He had never loved her more. But if he could force her home, away from the miasma of shame and danger that hung over him, he would do it without hesitation.
There was a rap on the door, the signal that time was up. The door slid open. Susan and Purvis were escorted out of the room. Bull slumped in his chair as the door closed behind them. He couldn’t fault Susan for coming, but seeing her only served to remind him of all he had to lose.
Waiting for the guard to come back, Bull muttered a string of the vilest curses he could dredge from the black depths of his soul. He knew better than to feel sorry for himself. He hadn’t fired the gun that blasted Ham Prescott to kingdom come, but every other step in this tragedy had been his own doing. He had set a trap of blackmail, secrets, and deception, then walked into it himself.
Anybody who knew the whole story would say that he deserved to be here. But that didn’t mean he had to accept his fate. He wanted out of this hellhole! He wanted his life back! He wanted Susan.
But his old life was gone. He’d taken too many shortcuts, opened too many of the wrong doors. Susan deserved better than the man he’d become—and the man he would be if he ever walked out of here on his own. He knew she’d stand by him. Susan was loyal to a fault. But she deserved so much better—an upright man who’d treat her like the queen she was, a man who’d never ask her to give up anything she loved for his sake.
With every tick of the clock in this place, his hope for life as a free man, with his own land and his own family, grew fainter. In time, he knew, it would be no more than dust in the wind.
* * *
After the jail visit, Susan drove back to the Rimrock and spent the next hour searching for the gun. Common sense told her she wouldn’t find it, and she didn’t. But at least she knew that she’d looked. The dogs trailed her around the yard, tails wagging, tongues lolling in the heat. Susan did her best to ignore the filthy mutts, but they seemed to have chosen her as their favorite person. Only after she’d gone inside did they plop down in the shade of the porch and go to sleep.
She’d asked Jasper their names. “Shep and Pal,” he’d told her. “Don’t ask me which one is which.”
She was doing her best to be useful around the house, buying food in town, cooking, cleaning, and running loads of laundry through the aging washer and dryer. The two hired boys usually warmed their own food and ate in the bunkhouse, but Susan had invited them to supper last night to ease the awkward silence between her and Jasper. She knew he didn’t like her much, but she tried not to take it personally. Jasper had been like an older brother to Bull in Bull’s youth. He was still fiercely protective of his young boss.
The next morning, after breakfast and chores, Susan dressed for her uncle’s 11 a.m. funeral, to be followed by an informal luncheon at the house. She dreaded the thought of going. Her parents would be furious with her. And she would be seeing Ferg for the first time since the rape.
His wife and son would be there, too, she reminded herself. That might make things easier. She had nothing but pity for the young woman he’d married and the son who’d gone unacknowledged for years. But her real purpose in being there was the hope of getting Ferg alone and learning more about the night of his father’s death. The prospect of facing him chilled her. But she would do it for Bull.
Dressed in a simple black knit sheath and black pumps, she was tucking a clean handkerchief into her purse when Jasper rapped on the bedroom door. “I found somethin’,” he said. “Take a look.”
She opened the door. He was holding a twisted red bandanna with something inside. When he opened it, Susan saw half a dozen brass shell casings from a small caliber weapon. “Found these outside the pasture fence,” he said. “The varmint that shot the cattle didn’t have enough time—or maybe enough sense—to pick them up. I used my knife to put ’em in here. Figured they might have prints on ’em. They might not count for much, but who knows?” He gave her a hopeful look.