Texas Fierce (The Tylers of Texas 4)

Bull stepped into the doorway.

Susan’s heart dropped. She forgot to breathe as he walked toward her and stopped a few feet away. He looked careworn, as if he’d spent nights without sleep. She checked the urge to run to him. First she needed to hear what he had to say.

Silence hung between them as they looked into each other’s faces. A small eternity seemed to pass before he spoke.

“Forgive me, Susan. I’ve let pride make a fool of me.”

She forced herself to remain rooted to the floor with one hand on the back of the chair. “You’ve been a proud fool, all right,” she said. “But as long as you’ve learned your lesson, I’ll forgive you—on one condition.”

In his eyes she saw fear, hope, and love. “Go on,” he said.

“I’ll forgive you only if you promise to spend the rest of your life making up for what you did to me.”

“Come here and try me, lady.”

She flung herself into his open arms. He held her tight. She could feel her tears wetting his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wanted everything perfect for you—the house, the ranch, even me. When I knew I couldn’t give you that—”

“Hush, my love.” She silenced his lips with her own. “I don’t care about perfect. I only care about building a life with you—together.”

He chuckled, deep in his throat. “I think you just proposed to me,” he said. “The answer is yes.”

* * *

A week later they were married in Ned Purvis’s rose garden. Susan wore a simple, white summer dress. Purvis walked her across the lawn to where Bull stood, with Jasper beside him as best man. The two young cowhands, Patrick and Chester, served as witnesses. A justice of the peace performed the ceremony.

One other event made the day memorable. As they began their vows, a breeze sprang up. Dark clouds swept in above the tall cottonwoods. Thunder rumbled across the sky.

They had just exchanged rings and kissed when the clouds burst open, releasing a torrent of rain, like a blessing on their marriage.

Purvis and the justice raced for the cover of the porch. Susan, Bull, and the rest of them splashed and danced, laughing like children in the sweet, life-giving downpour.

EPILOGUE

August 1975, three years later

BULL STOOD ON THE PORCH BEFORE SUPPER, WATCHING THE LAST blaze of sunset fade above the shadowed cliffs of the escarpment. The air was fresh and cool after the midday cloudburst. The smell of raw, damp earth was heaven to his senses.

A rare satisfaction stole over him as he contemplated the fact that, in every direction he looked, most of what he saw was his own land.

Over the past couple of years, he’d picked up pieces of neighboring property wherever he could. The swampland to the south was his now, with a good spot to drill a shallow well if the need arose. And he’d jumped at the chance to expand the caprock parcel when the owner had retired. Now he had enough land and water up there to run a thousand head of beef and still have enough acreage for growing hay.

The heart of the ranch had seen improvements as well. Months of living in the house while Krishna and Steve remodeled it had been a bother, but the end result had been worth it. The house was now a handsome edifice of timbers and river stone, with a cathedral ceiling and a high rock fireplace in what Krishna called the great room, as well as hardwood floors, a formal dining room, and even a small apartment added on the back for Jasper.

At Susan’s insistence, he had also graveled an area around the house to keep the dust and mud from tracking inside. Susan had also insisted that the dogs be professionally clipped and groomed. Without their shaggy fur, they were as sleek and trim as show dogs, but as mischievous as ever.

As if the thought could bring them, the two mutts came up the steps and crowded around his legs, begging to be petted. Bull scratched each eager head. He liked them all right, but in their doggy hearts, they really belonged to his wife.

He heard the screen door open and close as Susan came out onto the porch with their two-month-old son in her arms. “Look who’s awake,” she said.

“Give him to me.” Bull took the tiny boy in his arms. It had taken some time for Susan to ge

t pregnant, but they’d done the job right. Young Will—named Williston, after Bull’s father—was stamped in his father’s image with dark hair, deep blue eyes, and a stubborn nature that was already showing. Healthy and alert, he was just beginning to notice things around him.

“I took him in for a checkup today,” Susan said. “Everything’s fine. But a woman in the doctor’s office mentioned that poor Edith Prescott has miscarried again. That’s the second time. I feel so sorry for her, especially when I look at our perfect little son and think what a blessing he is.”

“Well, at least they’ve got Garn to carry on the family name.” Not that Garn was much for a father to brag about. Bull supposed that he should feel sorry for Ferg. But after the things Ferg had done, he couldn’t muster much compassion for the man.