Texas Tall (4 page)

A faint sound shocked him to full alertness—a smooth engine gearing down as it approached the house. Will sat up, ears straining in the darkness. Tori's aging wagon had a distinctive rumble and a squeak in the chassis. He would know the sound of it anywhere. But this vehicle was almost silent, more like a late-model high-end sedan.

Tires crunched on gravel as it pulled up to the porch. Will was already grabbing for his clothes, yanking them on, shoving his bare feet into his boots. Was it a highway patrol car, its driver coming to tell him that Tori had been in some horrible accident? Or could it be one of Stella's minions sneaking up to the house to do some damage?

Heart pumping adrenaline, he opened the top drawer in the nightstand and took out the pistol he kept there. By the time he reached the living room, the sound of the engine had stopped. Headlights were shining through the front window. Whoever it was, at least they weren't trying to sneak up on the place. But this could still mean bad news.

Now Will could hear footsteps and voices—one of them a man's, one of them Tori's. At least she sounded all right—more than all right. She was laughing. He stepped back into the shadows of the hallway—not wanting to be seen, but too curious to turn away and go back to bed. Why would Middleton—if that's who it was—be bringing her here? Why hadn't she driven herself? Was he about to meet his ex-wife's new boyfriend?

The parked car's headlights shone blindingly bright through the plate glass window. As Will's eyes adjusted to the glare, he could make out a silhouette on the porch—two people, one taller, locked in a passionate kiss. His pulse slammed.

Don't look, you damnfool idiot! Go back to bed!
Will chastised himself. But he was rooted to the spot, fighting emotions he had no right to feel as the silhouette separated and became two people, the taller one leaving. An instant later, Tori's key turned in the lock. She stepped into the darkened living room.

Will backed into the shadows, but not soon enough. Tori must've heard him, or sensed he was there.

“Will?” Clutching her overnight bag, she stood outlined in the open doorway. Her hair fluttered in the night breeze. “Is that you?”

He stepped out of the shadows. Her breath caught in a low gasp. “Good grief, don't tell me that's a gun in your hand! Who were you planning to shoot?”

“This isn't anything to joke about, Tori. I heard a strange car. I thought it might be a prowler.”

She closed the door and locked it behind her. “I told you not to wait up for me. If you'd been asleep, you wouldn't have heard the car.”

“I'm not exactly sleeping well lately,” Will growled. “Where's your wagon?”

“Dead in my driveway. Bad starter, I think. Drew drove me here.”

“Too bad he didn't stick around for an introduction. After seeing how he said good night to you, I wouldn't have minded meeting him.”

Her chin went up in defiance. “Stop badgering me, Will. I'm tired. I'm going to bed.”

He stood his ground, his silence asking the unspoken question that hung between them.

Tori's patience snapped. “For your information, I haven't slept with the man. If I decide to—which I might—that will be none of your business, Will Tyler. Now get out of my way. I want to check on Erin. Then I'm going to sleep.”

Ignoring the knot in his gut, Will stepped aside to let her get by. Part of him ached to crush her in his arms, sweep her off to his bed, and stake his claim on her all over again. But the time when that might have happened was long past. Tori would never be his again.

As they passed in the entrance to the hallway, something awakened and cried out in him. He reached out and caught her cheek with his hand, lightly cupping her face, lifting it to the pale light that filtered from the front window. The pupils of her eyes were large and dark, her lips moistly swollen. He ached to bend close, to brush those lips with his, but she pulled back with a sharp little breath, shook her head, and fled down the hall toward Erin's room.

* * *

The next day was Sunday. Although the Tylers weren't big on church attendance, Sunday dinner on the Rimrock was an honored tradition. It was a time when the family, and those who counted as family, gathered around the dining-room table in relative peace to celebrate their blessings.

Lauren Prescott raised her bowed head after Jasper droned the usual grace over the food. She'd been included since the past summer, when her old family home had gone up in flames and Sky had asked her to marry him. The Tylers always welcomed her, but even after more than three months of being engaged to Sky, she still felt like an interloper.

As family and friends helped themselves to roast beef, potatoes and gravy, salad, and fresh hot rolls, Lauren's gaze drifted around the table. Beau, seated across from her with his wife, had been her friend and champion since last spring when he'd hired her accounting skills for the ranch. But Natalie, petite and dark-eyed, her pregnancy beginning to show, was so busy with her veterinary practice and her new marriage that Lauren had scarcely gotten to know her.

Tori had become Lauren's friend after helping her find an apartment in town. But Tori, in her own way, was also an outsider here. Today the tension hung heavy between her and Will. Something was going on between them. It showed in the way they avoided each other's eyes, the way they spoke not to each other but to their daughter.

Flanked by her parents, Erin basked in the love of everyone at the table. She might not realize it, but Will's daughter was the glue that held the ranch family together, the bond that brought them here and made them—for this brief time—one.

Bernice sat closest to the kitchen. She'd always been kind and friendly. But her brother, Jasper, had never warmed to Lauren—and Lauren understood why. For three generations the Tylers and the Prescotts had been bitter enemies. Jasper remembered every wrong, every misdeed, every dispute, from the beginning.
Trust a skunk before you trust a Prescott,
he was known to say, though not to Lauren's face.

Bull Tyler and Ferguson Prescott, Lauren's grandfather, had started the feud. Both men were dead now, but the animosity remained. When Lauren's father, the late congressman Garn Prescott, had died this summer, Jasper had refused to attend the burial service. Though he'd been at the graveside, Will, too, had had his own issues with the congressman. Now, as the only living descendant of Ferg Prescott and his son, Garn, Lauren carried a heavy burden of past family sins. Only time would tell what that burden would cost her.

She felt the light press of a hand on her knee. Seated next to her, Sky gave her his secret smile. She reached under the edge of the tablecloth and brushed the back of his hand in a furtive caress. Her history and Sky's were intertwined in ways neither of them could have imagined when they'd first met. That hidden bond made her love him all the more. She could hardly wait to become his wife. Maybe then they could start anew and put the old family scandals to rest.

“How's the new house coming along, Sky?” It was Beau who asked the question. “I've meant to ride over and take a look now that the fall roundup's done.”

“The outside's finished,” Sky said, “as well as the plumbing, heating, and wiring. Once the Sheetrock's up and prepped, I can turn Lauren loose on the inside.”

“I'll be in decorator heaven!” Lauren said. “We'll have a big housewarming when it's done!”

Sky had wanted to build his bride an entire house with his own hands, but his responsibilities on the Rimrock had made that impractical. Under his supervision, the crew he'd hired to put in a well and septic tank, run the power line and construct the log house, with its broad, covered front porch, was doing a fine job. The place wouldn't be big and sprawling like the Tyler home, but with Lauren dipping into her inheritance to decorate the rustic interior, it would be beautifully finished and comfortably furnished.

Will had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal. Sky had told Lauren about the shooting of Stella Rawlins's brother and the possible consequences. No wonder Will looked so troubled. Lauren could sympathize with him. Stella, she suspected, had ruined her father's reputation and contributed to his death. As always there was no proof against her, but if rumors were true, the woman was as dangerous as a coiled rattlesnake. And now she'd be out to avenge her brother by hurting Will any way she could—starting with the law.

* * *

Will walked into the room that served as the Rimrock office and closed the door behind him. He usually looked forward to Sunday dinners, but today's meal had been an ordeal of silence and small talk, with everyone avoiding the one topic that was on their minds—the shooting and what was going to happen next.

Will had excused himself at the end of the meal, muttering something about the need to use the office computer; but the truth was, he'd just wanted to be alone and think things out. Until yesterday he'd felt certain that he'd acted in self-defense, and any case against him would be dismissed. But yesterday's senseless grilling from Abner had changed his mind.

For whatever reason, the sneaky little toad was out to get him.

Sitting, he switched on the computer and brought up a search engine. He spent the next half hour reading up on Texas law, the inquest process, and the precedents for charges that could stem from an incident like the one he'd been involved in. What he found wasn't encouraging. By pulling the trigger a split second too soon, he might have left himself vulnerable.

With a muttered curse he switched off the machine. Most of what he'd read, he could've learned from Tori. But now that she had a new man in her life, he couldn't expect her to drop everything and come running whenever he needed her. And unless her help involved protecting Erin, he had too much pride to ask.

The thought deepened the dark hollow Will felt inside. He and Tori were past history, but even now, the thought of Drew Middleton, or any man, taking her away was like having the earth slide out from under his feet. Tori was a beautiful woman, and sooner or later, this was bound to happen. But why the hell did it have to happen now?

Swiveling the chair, he gazed up at the leather-framed sepia-toned photograph on the wall. Bull Tyler had refused to sit for a painted portrait, like the one of his wife that hung above the sideboard in the dining room. But years ago, when he'd been featured in a magazine article about Texas ranching, he'd agreed to be photographed.

The picture, taken when Bull was fifty, showed a handsome, vigorous man in his prime. Dressed in a corduroy jacket, plaid shirt, and leather bolo, and sporting a well-trimmed moustache, he emanated authority. His piercing gaze, from under thick, dark eyebrows, challenged any comer to take him on.

In the last years of his life, after the riding accident that paralyzed his legs, Bull had ruled the ranch family from his wheelchair. But there was no trace of any weakness in this photograph. This was the way Will had chosen to remember his father—powerful, dynamic, and always in charge.

That memory would haunt every decision Will had ever made.

What would you do in my place, Dad?
Will gazed up at the blunt, chiseled features as if waiting for an answer. But why ask when he knew what the answer would be? Bull Tyler would have told everybody to go to hell, turned his back, and then walked away.

Maybe for Bull, that would've worked, but not these days. The law had too much power. Will would fight the possible charges with every resource he had. But he'd be a fool not to see the cold reality that was staring him in the face. He'd killed a man—the wrong man. If things went badly, he could find himself spending time behind bars.

Starting now, he needed to get his priorities in order—beginning with his family and the ranch.

Abner had told Beau that scheduling and carrying out the inquest would take several weeks. After that, there'd be a trial—or not, depending on the outcome. Either way, Will would have some free time before any decision was made—time to tie up loose ends and put some things right.

One task nagged him every time he looked at his father's proud face. It was the land—the precious canyon parcel with the spring and the rumored Spanish gold—that Bull had sold to his hated neighbor, Ferg Prescott, for the sum of $1.

Except for that small piece of land, less than an acre, no part of the Rimrock had ever been sold. For the sake of family pride, if nothing else, Will knew he had to get it back.

Last spring he'd made Garn Prescott, Ferg's son, a generous offer for it. The congressman had refused to sell, blaming some deathbed promise to his father. But things had changed since then. Garn was dead.

Now the land belonged to Lauren.

CHAPTER 4

W
ill stepped out of the office and walked down the hall to the living room. He'd hoped Lauren and Sky would still be here; but except for the hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen and the steady ticktock of the grandfather clock in the entry, the house was quiet. Nobody appeared to be around, not even Erin.

Mildly puzzled, he walked out onto the porch. He discovered Jasper in his customary chair, a Corona in his hand and the dog sprawled at his feet.

“Awfully quiet in there,” Will said. “Where is everybody?”

Jasper took a swig of his beer, flecks of foam clinging to his upper lip. “Bernice is napping. Beau and Natalie went home. The others piled into Sky's pickup, and he drove 'em over to see the new house.”

“Did they say when they'd be back?” Will glanced off the porch and saw Lauren's vintage black Corvette parked on the gravel. At least she hadn't left for town.

“Don't reckon they'll be long. Not that much to see.” His wise, pale eyes studied Will. “So you're thinking about getting that canyon parcel back, are you?”

“Am I that easy to read?”

The old man chuckled. “I've known you since you were in diapers, Will Tyler. You come out here looking all wrought up, you ask where everybody is, and then you check for the Prescott girl's car. Doesn't take much to figure that one out.”

“It's been on my mind since Garn died,” Will said. “But with Lauren still mourning her father, it didn't seem fitting to ask her about it. Now . . .” Will gazed into the blue distance, where two vultures circled on the updrafts. Some people believed that the ugly black birds were a portent of evil. Will had never held with that old superstition, and he wasn't about to start believing it now. “I'm trying to get some things done before the inquest wraps up. Hopefully, it'll come to nothing, but you never know. If I have to go away for a while . . .”

“Don't even talk like that,” Jasper said. “When the girl marries Sky, the land will at least be back in the family.”

“But not the way it should be. I want a signed, recorded deed giving that land back to the Rimrock. And I won't settle for less.”

“It might not be that easy. For all you know, that land could've gone with the rest of the Prescott Ranch when Garn sold out to the syndicate.”

“No, I checked with the county recorder,” Will said. “The old deed's still valid, made out to Ferguson Prescott and his heirs in perpetuity. The property's Lauren's to sell.”

“If she's willing to sell it. She's a Prescott, after all. Stubborn devils, Ferg and his boy. Garn's daughter won't be no different.” Jasper took another swig of his Corona. Something in the old man's look told Will he knew more than he was telling. But Jasper was full of secrets, most of which he would probably take to his grave.

For now, there was no time to pry any more out of him. Sky's steel-blue pickup had come over the last rise, trailing a plume of dust as it bounced across the burned-over flatland toward the house. Will waited as the truck pulled up to the porch; he was pondering what he could say to influence Lauren.
How much does she know about the land?
he wondered.
How much had her father told her—and Sky?

Tori and Erin climbed out of the rear seat. Instead of coming up onto the porch, Erin was tugging her mother toward the paddock, where the colts were romping in the afternoon sunlight. Even from a distance Tesoro's hide gleamed like gold, making it easy to spot him among his darker-coated playmates. In a way it was too bad Erin was so smitten with her young colt. The sale of such an animal would give the ranch a much-needed influx of cash. But no amount of money was worth breaking his daughter's heart.

Lauren waited for Sky to come around the truck and open the passenger door before she climbed to the ground. Sky's fiancée was a stunner, with a model's rangy figure, coppery eyes, and an unruly mane of auburn hair. Reared with wealth, she was accustomed to the best. For Sky, a man of secure but modest means, keeping her happy would be a challenge. But the two of them did seem deeply in love. Will envied them that.

Will came down the steps to meet her and invite her inside for a talk. He meant to offer her a fair price for the land, but there was always the chance she wouldn't agree to sell. If she dug in her heels and refused, he might have a fight on his hands, with Sky siding against him. But there was no way he was backing down. One way or another, he would make the stolen land—and there was no other way to think of it—part of the Rimrock once more.

* * *

Sky settled himself in the leather armchair by the fireplace, a safe distance from the sofa, where Will had invited Lauren to sit. He knew exactly what was on Will's mind. The surprise was that his half brother had waited this long to bring it up.

Sky had shown Lauren the disputed land early on and told her what little he knew about it. He understood how much Will wanted that small parcel back where it belonged. But the decision to sell, or not to sell, would be Lauren's, and he would support her choice. Knowing what was coming, he'd already made that clear to her. Right now, he was nothing more than an interested observer.

“Something to drink?” Will was still on his feet. “A beer? Some wine?”

“No, thank you,” Lauren declined, as did Sky.

Will lowered his tall frame to the edge of the sofa, looking ill at ease as he turned toward Lauren. “Something tells me you already know what I want to talk to you about,” he said.

“Yes, and I'm familiar with the circumstances,” Lauren replied. Sky had to admire her quiet poise.

Will cleared his throat. “I offered Garn a fair price for that parcel of land when he was running for reelection. But he told me he'd promised his father not to sell it. I take it you aren't bound by the same promise.”

“I don't even remember my grandfather. I was a toddler when my parents divorced, and my mother took me back to Maryland. So, no. I'm not bound by anything,” Lauren said. “The syndicate owns the original ranch, including the land where the house was before it burned. But that little parcel wasn't included. According to my dad's lawyer, it's mine now.” She gave Will a knowing smile. “But something tells me you're already aware of that.”

Will shifted on the sofa. “Then let's get right down to business,” he said. “I'm prepared to offer you the same price as I offered your father. I can give you the check today, and you can sign the deed over in town tomorrow.” He waited, the expectant silence broken only by the ticking clock, as Lauren took her time. At last she spoke.

“I don't need your money, Will. As a U.S. congressman my father had excellent life insurance, as well as insurance on the house and my grandfather's antique-car collection. I'm the sole beneficiary.”

An expression of cold astonishment flashed across Will's face. Sky had nothing but respect for his secret half brother, but it tickled him to see Will put down so handily by a woman.
My woman,
he thought.

“I've never owned a piece of land before,” Lauren said. “I'm not saying I won't sell it eventually. But I want to get to know it first—to explore it and learn more about its history. Maybe then—”

“You know that story about the hidden Spanish gold is nothing but bunk!” Will snapped.

“I know that my grandfather searched every inch of the land and never found it. But this isn't about the gold.” Lauren gave Will a few seconds to stew over what she'd said. “I don't want to sell it yet, but here's what I will do. I'll free up the spring so your cattle will have water in the bigger canyon below. And when I sell it to you—
if
I sell it, which I won't promise—the price will be exactly what my grandfather paid Bull for it. One dollar.”

Right then, Sky would have given anything for a camera to photograph Will's face. He looked as if he'd been smacked with a wet fish. But it didn't take long for Will to recover.

“You can stop grinning now, Sky,” he growled. “You're the one who'll be living with this woman. Think about that!” Rising, he extended his hand to Lauren. He'd gained some concessions, but he still didn't look happy. “Given a choice, I'd rather pay the money and buy that land now,” he said. “I'll try to be patient. But my father won't rest easy in his grave till this is settled.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Lauren said. “I'm sorry I never knew your father. From what I've heard about him, he must've been quite a man.”

“He was,” Will said. “He was more than a man. He was a force.”

He still is.
Sky kept his silence. But he knew Lauren had meant those words for him, as well as for Will.

* * *

Stella's feet, in their high-heeled red cowgirl boots, throbbed after a night of tending bar in the Blue Coyote. When Will Tyler had fired a bullet through Nicky's innocent heart, she'd not only lost a brother, she'd lost a damned good bartender. She would mourn him for a long time to come. But for now, she'd channeled her grief into rage. Tyler would pay for what he'd done. Before she was finished with them, his whole family would pay.

So far, she'd left his punishment to Abner and the law. But she couldn't depend on the legal system to give her justice, let alone vengeance. She could always use her Dallas connection to call in a hit on the man. But that would be expensive. It would also be too fast and too easy to give her the satisfaction she craved. She wanted to see Will Tyler squirm. She wanted to see him suffer.

Stella had planned to close the Blue Coyote at ten, as she usually did on Sunday nights, but the sad-eyed cowboy in the corner booth, nursing his can of Dos Equis beer, showed no inclination to leave.

She might have given him a gentle nudge out the door, but Stella had recognized the lanky young man. She'd seen him come in a few times with the crew from the Rimrock. Last spring, early on, he'd given Lute Fletcher a few rides to town in his old rust bucket of a pickup. The kid didn't look like much, but it wouldn't hurt to learn more about him.

What was his name? She searched her memory and found it. Ralph, that's what one of the men had called him. She'd make an effort to remember and use it.

Slipping an old Hank Williams CD in the boom box, she turned the volume down low. Then she popped the tab on a fresh beer, sidled over to the booth, and took the seat across from him.

“That beer of yours must be getting stale, Ralph,” she said, smiling. “Here, have a cold one on the house.”

“Thanks.” He accepted the can with a shy smile. He looked young, barely twenty-one, Stella guessed. His eyes were light brown, and his mud-colored hair wanted cutting. The hand that clasped the beer can was nicked and calloused, the fingernails streaked with embedded dirt.

“You look sadder than a hound dog pup, cowboy,” she said in her folksiest manner. “If there's anything you need to get off your chest, I'm a good listener.”

The melancholy strains of “Your Cheatin' Heart” drifted through the darkened bar. The young cowhand sipped the cold beer, maybe weighing the wisdom of sharing his troubles. After a long moment's hesitation, he sighed. “It's my wife, Vonda,” he said. “We had to get married this summer on account of she was in a family way. Mostly it's okay, bein' married. My boss, Will Tyler, let us move into one of the little family houses on the ranch. It's nice enough, and the rent's a lot cheaper than livin' in town, but . . .”

He tipped the can to his lips, his Adam's apple quivering as he swallowed. “It's always about the damned money!” The words exploded out of him. “Will pays as good as most ranchers around here, and we got insurance for when the baby comes, thank God. But that ain't enough for Vonda. She wants to move to town, where she can hang out with her friends. She wants fancy clothes and her own cell phone and her own car to cat around in. She wants a big-screen TV and all kinds of furniture and gadgets for the baby.”

He raked his hand through his unruly hair. “Lord, I work my ass off, but cowboyin' don't pay all that much. Tonight, when I tried to tell her how it was, Vonda threw me out. She says I'm not gettin' any you-know-what till I can figure out a way for her to have what she wants.”

“How old is Vonda?” Stella asked.

“Sixteen. Just a kid. If I hadn't married her when she got pregnant, her folks woulda thrown me in jail, her daddy bein' sheriff and all. Even then, they threw her out and won't have nothin'to do with us.”

Something clicked in Stella's head. So this downtrodden cowboy was Abner's son-in-law. Interesting. She gave him a sympathetic look. “I'm guessing you haven't done any bartending.”

“Nope. But I'm right sorry about you losing your brother, Miss Stella. Damn shame what happened.” He brightened. “Say, maybe you could teach me bartendin'.”

“I'm afraid I need someone with experience.” Stella rose and smoothed out her tight denim skirt. “But if you'd like to earn a little extra money, I might could use some help around the place—cleaning up, fixing things, maybe running a few errands.”

“Heck, I can do all that stuff!” He was grinning now, as eager as a puppy. “Just let me know what you need.”

“I'll think on it, Ralph. Check back with me the next time you're in town. Right now, it's time to finish your beer and go home to that little wife of yours. With luck, she'll be feeling lonesome by now.”

As she closed the bar, Stella watched the taillights on the rattletrap truck fade toward the highway. Ralph might not be the sharpest tack in the barrel, but he was desperate for cash, eager to please, and in the right place to be of use. Given time and a little coaching, he could turn out to be helpful.