Texas True (8 page)

Which brought her furtive gaze to Will.

A familiar ache stirred in Tori's throat as she studied him, head bowed, eyes closed. He looked tired, she thought. The creases had deepened at the corners of his eyes, and his dark hair had taken on a sheen of silver. He was only thirty-nine, but since Bull's accident, and especially now, following Bull's death, Will's duties as head of the ranch family weighed heavily on him.

Tori wasn't surprised that he was still single. He was married to the ranch; he always had been.

“Amen,” Jasper rumbled.

With a murmured “Amen” and a whoosh of relief, Erin reached for the basket of Bernice's fresh, hot rolls, took one, and passed it on. Soon plates were filled with turkey, stuffing, potatoes and gravy, buttered carrots, and fresh green salad.

“Well, Tori, what do you think of Erin's new foal?” Bernice asked, making conversation.

“He's a beautiful little thing,” Tori said. “But I'm aware of the gelding issue, and frankly, I'm uneasy about Erin raising a stud, especially for her first horse.”

“Oh, Mom, I'll be fine!” Erin speared a second hot roll. “Sky's helping me train him. Tesoro already knows my smell and my voice. Anyway, I like the idea of having my very own stallion. It'll be cool.”

“It won't be cool if he hurts you.” Tori glanced across the table at Will. “There are other pregnant mares out there. Why not let her choose a different foal?”

“No, Mom!” Erin's fork clattered to her plate. “Daddy promised me Tesoro! He's already mine and I won't give him up!”

“Give it time, Tori.” Beau had always been the peacemaker. “That foal has a lot of growing up to do, and so does Erin. For now they'll be fine together. Later on, if he shows signs of being hard to handle, we can decide what to do.”

“Beau's right, Tori,” Will said. “I know you're worried. I was, too, but I've thought it over. I did promise Erin the foal, and she's already attached to him. Nothing's going to happen while he's little.”

“So now you're ganging up on me. Three against one.” The look Tori gave Will expressed more than words. She'd surrendered the battle but not the war. When it came to her daughter's safety, there was no middle ground. She'd castrate that colt herself—or shoot him if she had to—before she'd let any harm come to Erin.

A strained silence fell over the table. Knowing she'd caused it, Tori smiled and deftly changed the subject. “So I've heard rumors that you'll be sticking around, Beau.”

He shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Till the roundup's over, at least. But I'm only on leave from work. I haven't quit.”

“You might as well hand in your notice tomorrow.” Will carved a slice off the turkey roast and laid it on his plate. “You know you'll end up staying.”

“We'll see.”

“What's to decide? You belong here. We need you. Enough said. Anybody else want more turkey?” He carved three more slices and left them on the platter. The silence had descended once more. Tori could feel the tension between the two brothers creeping upward like the red line on a pressure gauge. Was it about to explode?

Bernice, ever the wise one, rolled her eyes and gazed up at the brass chandelier that hung over the dining room table. Her round, rosy face was a mask of innocence. “My, hasn't it been a lovely day,” she said. “Do you think it's too early to put out the tomato plants?”

 

Lute sat at a table in the Blue Coyote, sipping a Corona and feeling like a man. He'd been half afraid to believe the fifty-dollar payment from Slade would be there. But when he'd worked up the nerve to approach Stella, she'd given him a friendly smile and handed him a plain white envelope. Inside he'd found the cash—two twenties and a ten.

He'd planned on saving most of it for the down payment on a car. But his first paycheck from the ranch wouldn't be coming in for another week, and this was like found money. It was a real treat, just sitting here with a decent beer in his hand and cash in his pocket.

It was a quiet night, even for a Wednesday. There were no more than a half dozen customers in the place. Lute's gaze followed Jess as she wandered among the tables, keeping the patrons happy. She looked pretty tonight, he thought. Her clean, shiny hair curled around her thin shoulders, softening the sharp lines of her face. Her jeans were stylishly ripped—distressed, was that what they called it? Through the thready holes, glints of tanned skin triggered a light, pleasant buzz of arousal. And she was wearing those little pink boots he found so hot.

“Hi.” She paused at his table. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Maybe.” He remembered how Slade had talked to her. “What time do you get off tonight?”

Her gaze flickered. “About ten. We close early on weeknights.”

Lute did a quick mental calculation. Ralph wouldn't be picking him up till midnight, so he'd have some leeway. “Want to share a pizza? If we hurry, we can get it before Burger Shack closes at ten-thirty. I can order ahead if I know what kind you like.”

Her eyes lit in a surprising way. “You're asking me out on a date?”

“Just pizza. It'll be too late for a movie. We can do that another time—I mean, if you want to.” Lute felt like a tongue-tied teenager. He'd never had much luck, let alone much experience, with girls, though he'd had sex once with a girl in his high school class who'd do it with anybody for twenty bucks.

But Jess was different. She was pretty and sweet in a way that made him want to do something nice for her, like take her out for pizza. Maybe when he got money and a car, she'd spend more time with him. He'd enjoy being seen with a good-looking girl. “So how about it?” he asked. “Want to go?”

“Sure.” She gave him a shy smile. “And I like Hawaiian.”

 

Jess watched the red lights fade as the rusty pickup vanished down the street. Turning away, she climbed the back stairs to her room above the Blue Coyote. It had been nice, sharing a pizza with young Lute. He reminded her of her kid brother, who'd died six years ago in a motorcycle accident. And he'd treated her like a lady, as if he didn't know what she really was. It was almost like being in high school again. But she'd come a long way since high school—mostly in the wrong direction. She was long overdue for a change.

She'd sold Slade's high-grade cocaine to a dealer she knew. Once she might have snorted it herself, but now she needed the money even more than she craved the high. She had to get out of this place, away from the people who were dragging her down.

She'd weighed the wisdom of warning Lute about Slade, then decided the risk was too great. Lute was already under the man's spell. If he went to Slade with what she'd told him, it could be all over for her.

She already knew too much.

Slade's trucking business was done on contract, with vehicles for freight, produce, livestock, hay, and feed. He employed three local drivers who, as far as Jess knew, carried legitimate cargo. But it was Slade who made the runs to Mexico, hauling baled Texas hay to a ranch two hundred miles south of Piedras Negras.

She'd already known he got the drugs through his Mexican connection. But it was by pure chance she'd discovered what was under the hay. Three nights ago, Slade had stopped by for a quickie on his way out of town. Since the bar was still open and her room was directly above the thin ceiling, they'd done their business on a blanket laid over the hay in the back of the closed truck. Jess was rearranging herself when she discovered she was missing a favorite earring. When she couldn't find it on the blanket, she reached down between the hay bales. Her groping fingers contacted cold, smooth metal in the unmistakable shape of a gun barrel. She felt another, then another.

Slade had climbed out of the truck to let her finish putting herself back together, but he suddenly appeared below the partly raised door. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” he'd growled.

His vehemence had scared her. When she'd stammered that she was looking for her earring, he'd seized her arm and yanked her roughly out of the truck. “I'll buy you more damned earrings,” he'd growled. “Now get back in the bar and do your job.”

His tires had spat gravel as he roared out of the parking lot. Jess hadn't seen him since, but her instincts told her Slade was dangerous.

She'd been saving money, planning to eventually leave and make a new start somewhere else. But something inside told her that she had to leave now—tonight.

There was less than a thousand dollars stashed away in her mattress. It wouldn't get her far, but Slade would be back in the next day or two. If he found out she had discovered the guns he was smuggling into Mexico, anything could happen.

Opening the door of her grubby little room, she dragged her backpack out from under the bed and began stuffing it with the few things she could carry. She could only hope somebody on the road would give her a ride out of town, to someplace where she could buy a bus ticket.

Time was running out.

A
s the sun continued its climb in the morning sky, inching ever closer to its apex, Beau could feel the warmth of its rays on his back. After nearly nine days in the saddle, he had managed to work all the stiffness out of his muscles.

Slowly he walked the close-coupled roan nearer to the milling knot of steers. The minute he spotted the unmarked yearling bull that had eluded last fall's roundup, he swung the roan into the herd, intent on separating the yearling from the rest.

As if knowing it was destined to be branded, tagged, and relieved of its cojones, the young Hereford bull made a dash for a clump of nearby mesquite. The cow-savvy roan seemed to anticipate the escape attempt, simultaneously lunging forward to block its path.

After that, Beau had only to sit easy in the saddle and let the well-trained cow pony do his job. With catlike agility, the roan gelding cut off the yearling's dash to freedom and turned it back toward the herd. The young bull made a show of returning, then attempted another break. The roan thwarted it with ease.

Spider Jones, one of Rimrock's younger cowhands, joined up with Beau and together they herded the animal to the chutes. Once the gate clanged shut behind it, Beau leaned forward in the saddle to stroke the roan's damp neck, offering low praise. “If that had been a cutting contest, you would have won us some money.”

Spider Jones swung his horse alongside Beau. Together they jogged their horses back to the gather. “Nice work. But that's what I like about working for Rimrock. You've got good horses here.”

“That we do,” Beau agreed, well aware that the bulk of the credit for them belonged to Sky and his skill in training.

“I was wondering . . . ,” Spider began, then hesitated and started over, his uncertain blue eyes darting a glance at Beau. “We've probably got only a few more days of roundup before we're finished. Me and a couple of the other boys plan on going into Lubbock to celebrate. There's a club there that has a room upstairs where a fella can go to get that manly itch scratched . . . if you know what I mean. You're welcome to join us. If you like,” he added, suddenly uneasy, as if he was worried that, by inviting one of the new owners, he had violated some unwritten rule.

“Sounds like the go-to place for a good time.” Beau deliberately let the young cowboy believe he might accompany them. But as far as he was concerned, there was only one woman he wanted to scratch his itch, and she wasn't in Lubbock.

Although on second thought, Beau realized that the wisest course might be to go to Lubbock. Natalie was a married woman, and it was best if he kept his distance.

“You got that righ—How the hell did he get his rope tangled up like that?” Disgust and amazement mingled together in his voice. Following the direction of Spider's gaze, Beau saw Lute, his rope partially around his body and a half loop around his horse's nose. “For somebody who's supposed to be related to Sky, he sure is worthless around cattle,” the young cowboy declared. “Somebody needs to take that rope away from him and put a shovel back in his hand.”

“Heads-up, Beau! Two o'clock!” Will's voice barked across the distance, directing Beau's attention to the cow and calf just breaking free of the gather.

Beau reined after them. In two jumps, the roan was at full stride. After a half dozen more, he was level with the escaping pair. The cow swung away from him and meekly trotted back to the herd, her calf trailing and bawling in confusion.

Checking the roan to a walk, Beau lifted his free hand to signal Will that the runaways were back in the fold. But Will wasn't where he had last seen him. He was galloping his tall bay toward a half dozen steers, bunched on the far side of a clearing. Intent on the strays, he didn't seem to notice that he was headed straight into a prairie dog colony. Hated by ranchers, the little rodents dug burrows that could trap and break the leg of a horse or cow.

Beau shouted a warning. Seeing the danger, Will wheeled his mount hard to the left. For a split second everything seemed fine. Then, suddenly, it wasn't.

The horse shied, shrieked, and shot straight up, twisting in midair like a rodeo bronc. In a scene that took on the slow-motion quality of a nightmare, Will flew out of the saddle. One foot caught the stirrup, then slid free of the boot as he slammed to the ground, landing flat on his back. Unharmed, the terrified bay plunged through the brush, gaining distance with every bound.

By now Beau was close enough to leap off his mount and race toward his brother. Will appeared dazed but he was moving, raising his head and shifting his legs.

A dozen strides away, Beau heard Will utter a sharp grunt of pain. Twisting sideways on the ground, Will yanked out his holstered pistol and fired three low shots at something unseen on the far side of his legs. Bits of pink and gray exploded into the air.

An instant later, Beau reached Will's side. There in the dust, inches from Will's leg, lay the bullet-riddled carcass of a diamondback rattlesnake, six feet long and as thick as a man's forearm.

Will's face was tinged with gray. He slumped back onto one elbow. “Bastard got me, Beau,” he muttered, pointing to his thigh. “But I got him back.”

Kicking the dead snake out of the way, Beau crouched next to his brother, his heart pounding and a sick knot forming in his stomach.

He threw a shout over his shoulder for help, yanked out his pocketknife, opened it, and slashed the denim away from Will's leg. The flesh was already swelling around the two deep red puncture wounds. Beau knew a rattler that size could inject a hefty dose of venom. More than enough to kill a man without prompt treatment.

“Bad, is it?” Will cursed through clenched teeth.

“Bad enough. Don't try to talk. Just lie still.”

Whipping off his bandana, he knotted it around Will's thigh a few inches above the wound. It would need to be loosened every few minutes. A too-tight tourniquet could shut off the blood flow into the leg, doing more harm than good. And the old practice of cutting the flesh and sucking out the venom had also proven to be ineffective. The best course of action was to keep Will quiet and get him to a hospital; it was the only way to save Will's leg, and maybe his life.

Sky was the first to reach them. His cool blue eyes quickly took in the situation. He tossed Beau the canteen from his saddle. “Pour this on the bite. The nearest hospital's in Lubbock. I'll call for Life Flight.” He whipped out his cell phone and punched in 911.

Beau helped Will sit up to keep his heart above his leg and slow the rise of the venom. Knowing the leg would swell, he cut off the rest of the pant leg and removed the sock. Will had lost the boot when the horse bucked him off.

“Somebody better catch that damned horse.” Will's jaw was clenched. He had to be in excruciating pain, but he was playing the tough guy, determined not to show it.

“The horse will be fine.” Beau used the water in Sky's canteen to flush the wound. “Right now all that matters is getting you to the hospital.”

Sky was still on the phone, speaking, then waiting and speaking again, his voice a low staccato.

“Make sure they have antivenin,” Beau said. “He's going to need it.”

Sky asked a few more questions, ended the call, and shook his head. “A helicopter can be here in twenty minutes. But they're out of antivenin. A new shipment's coming in tomorrow.”

Beau swore. The antidote for rattlesnake venom was most effective if given intravenously within the first couple of hours. Tomorrow could be too late. For all he knew, Will could be dead by then. “Try Amarillo,” he said. “They've got to have some.”

Sky frowned. “Wait . . . Natalie should have antivenin. She keeps a supply for dogs.”

“Call her,” Beau said.

While Sky speed-dialed Natalie's number, Beau busied himself with adjusting the bandana around Will's thigh. The whole leg had begun to swell. Will purpled the air with curses as Beau retied the cloth. “Bad?” he asked needlessly.

“Hurts like bloody hell.” Will spat in the direction of the dead reptile. “And the timing sucks. Who's going to boss the roundup?”

“The men know their jobs. And Sky can manage things fine.” Beau glanced upward. “The helicopter should be here soon. Just be quiet and take it easy.”

“I could use a swallow of whiskey.”

“Not a good idea, brother.”

Sky had ended the call. “Natalie's got antivenin. It will be fastest if she drives to Lubbock; she should get there about the same time the copter lands.”

An eternity seemed to pass before they heard the drone of the red and white Life Flight helicopter. Refusing to stay quiet, Will had spent the interim giving Sky a running litany of muttered instructions, things Sky doubtless already knew. Even in his dire condition, Will couldn't let go of his duties.

By the time the paramedics loaded him in the helicopter, Will's pulse was racing at a gallop. Beau insisted on riding along. Though it wasn't usual policy, the paramedics didn't argue. Will was a powerful man and not in his right mind. If he got hard to handle in the air, they might need help calming him.

Beau clasped his brother's hand while the technician inserted an IV with a saline drip in his arm. Will was mumbling now, demanding that he be taken back to the ranch—a sign that the venom was already seeping into his system.

Although the flight to the hospital was a relatively short one, each minute in the air seemed three times as long. As the helicopter began its descent to the hospital's landing pad, Beau clasped Will's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Hang in there, big brother,” he ordered. “Everything's going to be fine now.”

Will looked directly at him and said something back, but the roar of the engine drowned out the sound of his voice. Even so, Beau was able to ascertain the words his lips shaped.

Call Tori,
Will had said.

Beau answered with a nod of promise.

As soon as the helicopter touched down, the engine was cut back, and the paramedics scrambled to unload their patient onto a waiting gurney. Will was already being whisked inside by the time Beau climbed out of the chopper.

Once inside the emergency department, Beau had a brief glimpse of Will on the gurney before the set of double doors to the trauma unit slid shut behind him. One of the paramedics motioned for Beau to join him at the admissions desk.

“They need some information on your brother.”

Reluctantly Beau allowed himself to be sidetracked from following Will into the trauma unit. Other than the absolute basics of name, age, blood type, address, and next of kin, there was scant information that Beau could provide. Any allergies or medications Will might be taking, Beau had to admit he didn't know.

After that was finished, someone else handed him a bag of his brother's personal items—his watch, wallet, and cell phone—and pointed him toward the emergency department's waiting room.

It was a small area, mostly unoccupied at that hour, with soothing blue walls, black vinyl couches, and framed prints of Texas wildflowers. Timeworn copies of
People
magazine,
Golf Digest
, and
Good Housekeeping
littered the tables. A frayed-looking woman was knitting what appeared to be an orange muffler while an unshaven man was sprawled on one of the side couches, lightly snoring.

Unwilling to twiddle his thumbs on one of the couches, Beau went to find out whether the antivenin had arrived. But no one either could or would tell him.

Again he bypassed the waiting area and walked out the emergency entrance to scan the parking lot, but there was no sign of Natalie's white SUV. He glanced at his watch and knew she had to be close. He wouldn't allow himself to consider that something might have happened en route to delay her.

To keep any thoughts blocked, he retrieved Will's cell phone from the bag and used the number in his brother's contact list to call Tori. Her phone rang once, then twice more before her voice mail came on. He left a message that omitted most of the worrisome details and asked her to call him. Not sure when Tori might check it, Beau decided to try her again in a few minutes. In the meantime, he phoned the ranch house and talked to Bernice. Again, he soft-pedaled Will's condition.

“You will let us know the minute you hear anything, won't you?” the anxious housekeeper urged as a siren's wail grew steadily louder, indicating the approach of an emergency vehicle.

“I promise. Tell Jasper not to worry. Will's in good hands.”

A patrol car, its siren screaming, came speeding into view and swung into the driveway to the emergency entrance. There was abrupt silence as the siren was killed. But it was the white SUV directly behind that claimed the whole of Beau's attention.

The white Land Cruiser screeched into a parking stall next to the emergency entrance. The door flew open and Natalie spilled out of the driver's seat, one hand clutching a small medical cooler. Dressed in jeans and a wrinkled khaki work shirt, she was disheveled and windblown, her face bare of makeup.

And she had never looked more beautiful, for a multitude of reasons, none of which was necessarily related to the other.

Her head came up the instant she saw him, her back straightened, and Beau had the impression she was erecting mental barriers against him.

“Thank God you made it without being pulled over,” Beau said, relieved the two-hour window wouldn't be pushed to the limit.

“I probably would have if I hadn't had an escort,” Natalie told him, directing a side glance to his right.

Until that moment, Beau had totally forgotten the police cruiser that had pulled into the emergency driveway ahead of her. He turned as Hoyt Axelrod came walking up, sunlight flashing on the sheriff 's badge pinned to his crisp uniform.

“Sheriff.” Beau wasn't sure whom he'd expected to see, but it wasn't Axelrod